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by Elvesliketrees



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Abuse, Awesome!d'Artagnan, Guilt, Guilty!Treville, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Multi, Neglect, Protective!Everyone, Slavery, Snuggling, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, Whump!Aramis, Whump!Athos, Whump!Porthos, happy ending I promise, ignorance, mention of rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3892357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elvesliketrees/pseuds/Elvesliketrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I officially suck at summaries. The boy's first mission does not go at all as planned. Five years later, d'Artagnan comes to a garrison with no Inseparables and a Captain who has a cloud hanging over his head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi:) I wanted to try some new things here (new ships, new ideas) to see how it worked. This is a pretty dark fic, so warnings for rape, suicidal thoughts, some depictions of violence, and some overall nastiness towards the boys. Because I just loving whumping them. But I promise, we get our happy ending. Please let me know if you find anything that you just don't think works here. I know that the middle, ESPECIALLY the d'Artagnan/Treville, was a bitch to write. Thank you for reading and feel free to let me know what you think.

      When Porthos du Vallon woke on a sunny May morning, everything was perfect, the sun was shining and was creating little glittering patterns amongst the trees, the birds were out and singing, and beside their little camp, a little brook burbled merrily. Behind them, Porthos knew a lake was glittering, just waiting to be jumped into, he could imagine the antics now. They’d delivered their message yesterday, and now they could take their semi-sweet time back to Paris. A murmur at his side caused his grin to morph into a smile. The warmth at his sides shifted on his left, and he looked over to Aramis. It was almost two years since the Musketeers were formed, the realm reeling from the Medici Revolution and what could have come out of it; two years since he, Athos, Aramis, and a select few were gathered under Captain Treville, no one expected them to survive the month, let alone the year. When Porthos had beheld his companions, he didn’t think he’d survive either. One was obviously drunk and running from something, the other much too busy running after different women. There were three others, along with Serge, Captain Treville’s friend who had been wounded during some war or other and now cooked for them, and patched them up if needed. They had survived, and they had grown closer and closer, until he found himself feeling much deeper for the men than he could have ever imagined, for these two especially. They’d now been lovers for a year. This was their first mission outside of Paris, Treville too nervous of threats against the king (especially since they were so few) to send them out, and they were all ecstatic to stretch their legs. To his left, Aramis once again shifted, his head on Porthos’ shoulder shifting. The big man ran thick fingers through his curls, and he instantly stilled, burrowing deeper into Porthos’ neck. On his other side, Athos murmured some soft words, and Porthos knew that he’d have two awake men on his hands soon. It was a warm morning, last night it was warm enough that they’d just spread their cloaks under them for something between them and the ground. Soon, Aramis yawned against his neck, with a small chuckle, Porthos ran his fingers through the man’s curls. “Mornin’ kitten, beautiful day, eh?” he asked quietly. Aramis hummed noncommittally and gave a little stretch. Porthos was glad for the privacy that they weren’t afforded in Pari, though he was pretty sure that the Captain knew something was up,he never said anything. Their shared apartments may have been a dead giveaway, however.

          “Damn birds,” a voice groaned from Porthos’ right. Aramis grinned slightly and Porthos looked to an awake Athos.

          “Don’t say that love, they’re beautiful!” Porthos said in mock horror.

          “I take offense to anything that wakes me,” Athos said coolly, though his lips twitched upwards at the end of the statement. Porthos gave him a kiss on the lips and smiled.

          “Well, I say that we go an’ make some breakfast, then go for a swim in the lake,” Porthos suggested. Athos raised an eyebrow.

          “Oh come Athos! For the first time we have some time and privacy, do you want to pass it up?” Aramis whined, to which Athos then rewarded them with a grin.

          “We had best get to breakfast, then,” he smiled. Aramis gave a whoop and shot up, Porthos scoffed, and Athos gave a little huff, which almost registered as a laugh. Some bread and cheese later, Aramis was shredding off his clothes like there was no time. Porthos stripped down to his braes and waded up to his hips, and he started to scrub the dirt and sweat from his chest. The water was warmed by the sun, and the ripples shined and sparkled with the morning rays. From the shore, Athos and Aramis were whispering, to which Porthos’ heart gave a little flutter. With a yell, Aramis tore off his braes and thundered into the water, kicking up huge waves as he went. Athos followed more sedately, a grin plastered to his face. Porthos went back to his scrubbing. From farther away, he could hear Athos’ indignant yelling and Aramis’ howling laughter. His heart swelled, they were together and happy, he loved these men, as much as he could love any other. Suddenly, all went quiet. Porthos’ back straightened, and he curled his fists. Suddenly, two great weights attached themselves to his back. Porthos gave a roar and instantly started thrashing as hands spread something on his back.

          “Get his chest Athos, come on!” he could hear Aramis laugh. Hands spread brown muck on his chest, and Porthos bucked as Aramis gave a whoop. He could hear Athos laughing ecstatically.

          “You’ll need to try better than that love!” he heard Athos yell. His chest was now covered in muck, though his hands found a waist and hefted it over his head. Aramis flailed and Porthos tossed him farther into the lake. Now for Athos. Aramis came up spluttering, his hair covered with muck. Athos and Porthos laughed hysterically at Aramis’ wounded look. With a squeal, he ran towards Porthos and leapt on his chest, and so the next half hour was filled with cries of “vengeance!” and “not the _hair_!”. After their bout of wrestling, the panting and muck-covered trio walked to hip-deep water and sat down. The water lapped at their chests and the sun shined down brilliantly as Porthos scrubbed the muck from a whining Aramis’ hair while Athos scrubbed at the man’s chest. After that, they were forced to pick plants from the bottom of the lake out of Athos’ hair. It was an hour later that they were on the road. When they stopped to camp that night, Porthos looked up at the stars, feeling that his heart could walk amongst them. Athos curled up along his right side and Aramis burrowed into his right, and Porthos curled his arms around them both, protecting them from the night. Aramis sighed and yawned, his eyes drooped closed.

          “I love you,” he whispered, and Porthos felt Athos straighten beside him.

          “I love you as well,” he replied quietly, vulnerably.

          “Love ya, both of ya,” Porthos whispered, Aramis sighed happily and cuddled closer, and Athos shifted slightly and burrowed into his chest. If this was what the rest of his life would be like, then Porthos du Vallon would die a happy man. When the attack came, it was completely out of nowhere. Later, Porthos would berate himself again and again for not setting a watch. He was deep in his dreams when a yell from Athos shattered him from sleep. He shot up, causing Aramis to roll off of him. Athos was drawing his sword, and Porthos saw numerous figures by the dying fire. Damn it! He drew his sword with a ring, but it wasn’t much use, they were only able to take out about five of the men before they were overwhelmed by sheer numbers. Their hands were bound behind their backs and they were thrown over their horses and blindfolded, led off into the night. The rest of the journey passed in a haze of silence, and Porthos soon submitted to the blackness that crowded his mind. When he awoke next, it was to the sight of an unbound Athos leaning over him. When he looked about, he saw that they were in a cage. At his side, Aramis was curled up in a small ball, and Porthos growled when he saw the bruise forming on the right side of his small lover’s jaw.

          “He did not take being caged well,” Athos sighed, rubbing at his red wrists.

          “How long we been here?” Porthos asked, “What do they want with us?” When he sat up, Porthos was astounded to see that they were in a forest, with many cages interspersed throughout a clearing.

          “I was able to talk to one of the other prisoners shortly, it appears that we are going to be sold…as slaves,” Athos said quietly. A cold stream rushed through Porthos’ heart and up his throat, he’d heard the stories, stories from his mother and others in the court. “It appears that the men lie in wait for travelers. We are to be sold at auction tomorrow,” Athos whispered.

          “Aramis know?” he asked quietly. Athos nodded. Hot rage rose up in Porthos’ throat and he stomped over to the cage, yanked heavily on the door, beat on the lock. When he finally spent his anger on the door, it was unmoved. He sat down heavily next to Athos.

          “I would give Treville a day to come looking for us, and two for travel,” Athos sighed. That was too late, it might as well have been forever in their case. If they were going to be sold tomorrow, they probably should make the best of their time, so Porthos scooped up Aramis, held him tightly to his chest. A little feather from Aramis’ hat had fallen onto the cage floor, and he picked it up and stowed it in his boot. He would give it back to the man later. He rubbed a hand up and down Aramis’ back, memorizing the contours of his spine, the curve of his back, the look of his curls as they gathered at the nape of his neck. He scooted back to a corner of the cage and snaked an arm around Athos, and for once the man clung to his side. He rubbed a thumb up and down his shoulder.

          “Probably worryin’ over nothin’, we’ll be fine,” Porthos tried to reassure the man as watery blue eyes tried to look into his steadily.

          “O-Of course. Treville will find us in no time at all,” Athos said as steadily as he could. Porthos nodded.

          “Aye, he won’t stop until he does, we’ll be back eatin’ Serge’s oatmeal before we know it,” Porthos supplied. Athos gave him a grin.

          “Some might find this position compromising,” Athos said dryly.

          “Let ‘em,” Porthos growled. With that, Athos buried his head into Porthos’ neck, and together the trio huddled in sleep. When the sun broke free of the horizon, Porthos rose. He saw their captors moving about the camp, setting up a stage in the distance; the auction would soon begin. With fear in his heart that he stubbornly tried to push down, Porthos nudged Athos awake. The man snorted, but immediately grew sober when he saw what was happening. In his arms, Aramis stirred with a small whimper; the bruise on his jaw was now a vivid blue, and he winced when he shifted his ribs. Porthos immediately drew him in closer. “Easy now kitten, you’re alrigh’. Athos and I are right here, we aren’t gonna let anybody hurt you,” he whispered soothingly. Aramis’ eyes fluttered open, and he looked around in confusion before realizing what was happening. A guard came to their cage and tossed in a water skin with a small hunk of bread, and Porthos made sure that Athos and Aramis ate before he did, they needed their strength. When the sun was close to noon, the cage door was ripped open and five men entered.

          “Up!” one barked. Porthos pulled Aramis in closer with a snarl and Athos shuffled forward until he was in front of Aramis. The guards were each armed with a club, the largest advanced and struck Athos hard in the ribs. He seized him by the hair and yanked him forward, after which Athos bit back a cry and scrabbled forward as best he could. Three guards seized each of Porthos’ arms and ripped them open, while the other yanked a glaring Aramis forward. Their hands were bound in front of them and the cage was closed again. On the stage, they could see the benches in front of it beginning to fill up. After what seemed hours of sitting with their hands bound in front of them, while a guard watched their every move, they were wrestled out of the cage. The auction itself passed in a blur for Porthos. Athos was a warm and steadying presence on his right, while Aramis leaned into him, offering comfort and familiarity, on his left. He heard the man talking quickly, the crowd yelling. He heard the crowd roar louder than ever. He looked at Athos, his lover had his head down, his eyes steady. Aramis’ eyes were dark with rage and rebellion, the fear hidden deep within them. Porthos thought he might vomit. The man started talking again, people were calling out, and the crowd roared again. Aramis winced, and something heavy settled itself in Athos’ eyes. The man started speaking for the final time, someone else was responding, and the crowd groaned. Athos flinched and Aramis’ eyes filled with tears. They were herded off the stage, Aramis and Athos both had death-grips on his doublet, even with their bound hands. Their bonds were cut, and they were ordered to divest their clothes. Ragged shirts and breeches were thrust into their hands, worn boots, and they put them all on. Luckily, Porthos was able to sneak Aramis’ feather into his palm. Their hands were encircled with irons, though at this, Aramis balked, but a few sweet nothings whispered in his ear by Athos saw a return of his courage. Men seized Porthos by the arms, Athos and Aramis received the same treatment. They had been sold, and they were to be taken to their new masters. Porthos’ mind went blank. He swung out his fist wildly and struck a guard on the nose. Aramis flailed in the arms of his captors, cursing them in French, Latin, and Spanish, a garbled ream of obscenities. Porthos swung again, and realized that the howling he heard was him. A guard drew his club, hit Porthos in the ribs full-force, and when he swung back to hit again, Athos was suddenly there. Athos grabbed his chin, forced him to look into ice-blue eyes. Porthos’ mind focused once more and Athos took his hands.

          “You must listen to me Porthos du Vallon,” he whispered, “Do as they say. Please Porthos, for me. Everything will be fine. Just do as they say.” Porthos’ breathing eased, Athos never asked for anything, he had to do what Athos asked. Athos gripped his hands, pushed something small into them. He gave Porthos a heavy nod and stepped back. Behind him, Porthos could see that Aramis was being dragged away, kicking out wildly at anything he could see, still screaming curses. Porthos sincerely hoped he would see him again. Athos’ guards gripped his forearms what looked hard enough to bruise and walked him away. Porthos was led away. He bellowed Athos’ name, Aramis’, but there was no response, they couldn’t hear him any longer. He was alone, no, he was not alone, he just wished he was alone. He was thrown into a wagon with bars. Chains secured his hands to the floor, and a disgusting, dirty length of cloth silenced his cries for the two men he adored; may never see again. He saw Aramis passing by in a cart with two women, blood pouring from his nose, silent with his head down. A horse walked by, Athos tied behind it. He looked at Porthos, and for the first time, Porthos saw panic in Athos’ eyes. A tear slipped down the stoic man’s cheek, his icy eyes watery and wet. He dug in his heels, looked at Porthos in what seemed to be desperation and pleading. What could only be Athos’ master glared back at him, dug his heels into his horse and Athos was flung forward, forced to scramble forward so as not to be dragged. Porthos opened his hand and beheld a tiny button from Athos’ jacket, he snuck it and the feather into his boot.

Five years later, the garrison*

          d’Artagnan shuffled nervously as Captain Treville of the Musketeers looked over the letters sent by his father. The only response to the materials being a raised eyebrow, d’Artagnan was nervous and flustered. Below, he could hear the sounds of training from the twenty or so Musketeers down in the yard.

          “You were trained under your father?” the Captain finally asked.

          “Yes Captain, he has been training me since I was ten,”d’Artagnan responded.

          “And your skill with a musket?” he asked.

          “Not as it should be, but I can handle one, along with a pistol,” d’Artagnan supplied.

          “You will need to get it up to skill, but the letters appear all in order. Welcome to the Musketeers, Apprentice d’Artagnan,” Treville said, extending his hand with a small smile. He’d heard that the Captain of the Musketeers was a cold man, but this was going a little bit far, the man had said maybe two words to him when he had ridden into the garrison. Treville led him outside, and gestured to a large man on the side of the yard.

          “Cornet!” he barked, “Put the man through his paces, I want to see what he’s made of.” Cornet nodded and strode up to the young Gascon. Warm browns eyes and short-cropped hair graced his face, and he looked down at the Gascon with a smile.

          “Captain Cornet at your service lad, swords or pistols?” he asked. They dueled with swords first. d’Artagnan drew out his rapier and got into position, the Captain watched from the background. The duel began, d’Artagnan thrust and parried, circled the burly man. Time began to blur, and it seemed only moments until a smiling Cornet was beneath his sword. Applause made d’Artagnan look at the Captain.

          “Well done!” the Captain cried.

          “Aye lad, well done indeed!” Cornet boomed, “Haven’t seen swordsmanship like that since….” He cut off his statement with an awkward look and a hung head. d’Artagnan looked at the Captain, confused, but the hard look in the man’s eyes silenced any questions.

          “d’Artagnan will receive his training by my own hand,” Treville proclaimed. There were murmurs amongst the men, the only apprentices Treville had trained by his own hand had been the original five; Athos, Porthos, Aramis, Cornet, Henri, and Bertrand. Of those five, only Cornet, Henri, and Bertrand remained, all lieutenants in the regiment. From then on, d’Artagnan spent all his waking hours with the Captain. He helped him with reports, accompanied him to the palace when he went, and received his training from him. This caused many of the regiment to become jealous, and d’Artagnan soon found himself isolated from the rest of the men. The only two that had taken a liking to the young man seemed to be Cornet and the cook, Serge. When d’Artagnan looked at Treville, he saw a sad man who had lost much in life, and d’Artagnan was astounded at the level of feeling that he had towards the Captain. He pushed these feelings down in anger, this was his superior, a man of thirty-five years and good standing! But no matter how hard he tried, the feelings only grew. The Captain pushed d’Artagnan hard, always demanding perfection, giving him a verbal lashing when he did not perform to the greatest degree. Finally, there came the day when d’Artagnan lost his concentration and lost a duel with Cornet. Suddenly, an angry Captain was there. “What in the hell were you thinking boy?!” he yelled “You’ll get yourself killed, performing like that! How many times must I repeat this Athos?!” d’Artagnan balked, wounded, and hurt seared into his heart, tears watered his eyes. He blinked them away viciously and threw his rapier on the ground as he stalked out the gate. A hand on his arm almost spun him round when he caught sight of Cornet. The man gave him a sympathetic smile and led him away. When they reached a tavern, the man slid a bottle of wine towards him, the Gascon took a large swig, looked at Cornet in confusion.

          “Ya probably want to know why he called you Athos, right?” he asked.

          “Yes, who is he, I’ve never heard the name before,” the Gascon mused.

          “Nor will ya. It hurts the Captain to talk about ‘im, hurts me too,” Cornet sighed.

          “What happened to him?” he asked.

          “Died,” Cornet sighed, d’Artagnan looked up.

          “But how?” he asked, and Cornet heaved a sigh.

          “There are some things that you’ll just have to ask the Captain. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m needed back at the garrison. Just, just be gentle with him lad,” Cornet sighed. d’Artagnan sipped his wine, it seemed that his questions only brought more questions. He left the tavern quite late. When he reported to the garrison the next morning, he saw a somber Cornet walking down the stairs. “Captain wants to see you,” he said quietly. When d’Artagnan entered the office quietly, he saw the Captain at his desk, an empty bottle of cognac in front of him. He looked at the Gascon with red-rimmed eyes.

          “I am sorry for my actions yesterday. They were unbecoming of a mentor towards his student, and a Captain towards one of his soldiers. You have my sincerest apologies, and an explanation, should you wish it,” the Captain sighed. d’Artagnan looked up and met the man’s eyes.

          “I do not require an explanation for your actions Captain, though should you ever need a set of ears, you have mine,” he stated quietly, the words “be gentle” running through his head. The Captain gave him a small smile.

          “Thank you, now I believe that you have parade today,” he said quietly and d’Artagnan walked out the door. After that, things began to change between Musketeer and apprentice. No longer was Treville so cold, though he never called him Athos again, he included him more in discussions, let him ease his drinking, he accompanied the Captain to the palace, and he noticed strange things. At first, d’Artagnan thought that the Captain gave all of the paperwork the same amount of perusing, but he saw it was not so. Any paperwork with any hint of illegal slave trading was not reviewed by the Gascon. The Captain always reviewed those reports, and always made sure they were investigated, proof or not. Also, d’Artagnan had a day off on Sunday. At first, he thought that this was normal, but then saw that all of the apprentices had a shortened day, not one free. When he asked Captain Treville if he needed to accompany him, the response was an immediate and firm negative. Every Sunday, the Captain would go off somewhere unknown with Cornet, Henri, and Bertrand, none were ever allowed to accompany them. He also noticed that the Captain saluted three cups of wine towards the setting sun every day. While finding this strange, d’Artagnan was immediately commanded to leave it be when he asked Cornet. Months passed, and d’Artagnan was gradually accepted to the regiment, no more were there mutterings or sneers when he walked outside. His feelings for the Captain grew, but were unspoken of except for one drunken confession to Cornet. That had ended with a stunned look and an open mouth from the man, then, a clap on the back.

          “Well, maybe he returns your feelings,” Cornet said gently.

          “Can’t ‘e’s a Cap’n,” the Gascon slurred, he couldn’t remember the conversation after that. The next morning, a pleading d’Artagnan had received an oath of secrecy from a grinning Cornet. However, everything changed when a missive came from Charroux, there was proof of a slaver in the area. The Captain had immediately thundered down the stairs, d’Artagnan barely able to keep up. Treville bellowed for Cornet to prepare the men for a mission, they galloped off towards the palace and were seen by a flustered king. When Treville had explained, a resigned look came in the king’s eye, the Cardinal said nothing. Hesitantly, the king gave his permission. d’Artagnan was astounded. The Cardinal had not even said a word! When they were all in the saddle, d’Artagnan spoke up. “Captain,” he said gently, “The only proof we have is the word of a drunk who thinks he saw the man.” The Captain looked at him with hard eyes.

          “It is enough,” he growled, and d’Artagnan reeled back in shock.

          “It isn’t! What if they’re too numerous!? We have no information on these men! We’re riding into an unknown situation!” d’Artagnan protested.

          “And we will keep riding, until we are done with riding and have these men in chains!” the Captain yelled. Cornet gripped the man’s arm.

          “Captain, the lad’s just talkin’ sense,” he said quietly. Sorrow flashed in the Captain’s eyes, and he rode up ahead ;d’Artagnan rode quietly after that. When they arrived at Charroux, the information said that they were outnumbered two to one, d’Artagnan suggested that they call for reinforcements from the Red Guard.

          “We go in,” Treville ordered.

          “But Captain,” d’Artagnan protested.

          “That is an order,” the Captain said quietly. When all was said and done, there was a massive fight. They didn’t lose any men (which quite frankly stunned the Gascon), but at least half their number were wounded. When the Gascon wrapped the Captain’s arm that night from a bullet, he was gentle no longer.

          “Why do you do this?” he demanded, “Risk yourself and us?”

          “It is not my intention,” the Captain sighed, “To put you at risk.”

          “Only yourself then? And how would that affect the people who care about you, those who love you?!” d’Artagnan demanded, then reeled back, as he realized what he had just admitted. The Captain stared at him in shock.

          “You love me?” he whispered hoarsely, d’Artagnan gulped, time to take the plunge.

          “For months,” the whispered lowly. The Captain’s eyes widened, lips, cautious and gentle, found his. d’Artagnan leaned into the kiss with a moan. Hours later, two men lay under the Captain’s covers in the inn. Long fingers traced a design on the older man’s stomach.

          “Tell me, what troubles you so? Why do you do this to yourself?” he whispered cautiously. A gust of breath was heard from his lover, and a sigh of resignation.

          “I promised you an explanation long ago, and it is time you had it. When the regiment was first started, we numbered five, along with Serge. We remained in Paris almost two years, too cautious of the king to leave. Finally, I allowed three of my best recruits to deliver a message outside the city. Their names were Athos, Porthos, and Aramis,” Treville sighed.

          “Athos? That is what you called me,” d’Artagnan mused.

          “You are much like him. You are almost his equal with a sword, he had one of the best techniques I have ever seen. You have his potential, I saw that immediately. That is one of the reasons I made the decision to train you myself. At first it hurt, but gradually I realized that you were your own person, indeed, someone that I could love,” Treville whispered.

          “What happened to them? Cornet told me that they were dead,” d’Artagnan replied.

          “We do not know. Athos, along with his lovers Aramis and Porthos, disappeared. We looked for days, only to hear of a slave auction in the middle of some unnamed forest. We caught and questioned the man who ran it, but he knew not who they were sold to. The record had been taken by his partner, and we could not find him. The only things that I had of my men were their clothes, it was obvious that they’d been sold…like animals. They loved one another so, though they kept it secret! I just wanted to give them some time to themselves!” Treville whispered. Arms encircled him, hands stroked his chest.

          “It was not your fault,” d’Artagnan whispered.

          “But it was! I sent them out! I am their Captain, I was supposed to protect them! Instead, I allow them to be sold like animals! I wish they were dead, it is this knowledge, the knowledge that they are out in the world, desperate, suffering, that breaks my heart,” Treville sobbed.

          “You are not to be blame. It’s obvious that you continue to look for these men every day, and honor their memories. Perhaps one day we will find them, but do not blame yourself for their fates,” d’Artagnan soothed. And all through the night this continued, Treville wading through years of darkness, and d’Artagnan held him throughout. They questioned the man and his associates, and none knew the partner or his location. They returned to Paris in defeat. Each night, d’Artagnan would sneak out of his room and join the Captain, their bond grew daily, and Cornet began sending them knowing looks. Apparently, Treville had loved him ever since the duel, which he’d admitted to Cornet in their discussion that morning. When Sunday came, d’Artagnan was stunned when Treville invited him. He and the others walked to a quiet street and entered an apartment. Therein was a room with a large bed to hold three, clothes were in a chest and hung from hooks, a black hat, a long, tan coat, and a blue doublet all hung on the hooks. There was a studded doublet, and a blue sash hanging from the bedposts, Cornet came up quietly as d’Artagnan was inspecting them.

          “It’s their apartment, Athos', Porthos', and Aramis'. We-we’re keepin’ it clean, don’t want ‘em to have a dusty apartment when they return,” Cornet said thickly. d’Artagnan saw the Captain wiping everything down with a rag, Henri was flinging open windows, Bertrand sweeping dirt off the floor. “It’s the least we can do for ‘em, cause of our failure,” Cornet whispered.

          “You did not fail them,” d’Artagnan responded, “None of you, and I’m sure that they will be glad for the gesture when they return.” The blinding smiles he received were enough to make his heart melt. d’Artagnan grabbed up a rag and helped the Captain wipe down the chest. Two weeks later, a miracle happened, Cornet crashed into the Captain’s chamber, not even missing a beat as the naked couple drew up the sheets with a cry.

          “Captain!” Cornet panted, “We found ‘im, we found the bastard’s partner!” Stunned silence reigned in the room. d’Artagnan flew out of the bed, uncaring about his nakedness and grabbed the Captain’s doublet, shoving it into his hands.

          “It is early enough that the king may be awake. Get to the palace Jean, Cornet and I will handle things here,” he commanded, and d’Artagnan swore that he’d never seen the man get dressed so fast. Outside, the garrison was mustering. When the Captain returned, a cheer went up as he held the king’s approval aloft. When they galloped out of the garrison, the heart of every man soared. They reached the partner and his mistress within the next two days, and were soon headed to the Le Puy mine for Porthos, the man had remembered selling three Musketeers almost six years ago, and had willingly pointed out the locations to a livid Cornet. When the men assembled outside the mine, d’Artagnan saw Treville shifting from foot to foot, he pulled the Captain aside and saw fear in his eyes. He pressed a deep kiss to the man’s lips and looked into his eyes. “You will succeed, my love. You’ve been waiting for this for years, it’s time to get them back,” he soothed. Treville sighed.

          “I know, it’s just that, it’s all like a dream. I think that I’m going to wake up, and I’ll be a failure once more,” he whispered.

          “You did not fail them, you did your duty, and they did theirs. Now, I think that we’ve kept Monsieur du Vallon waiting for long enough,” d’Artagnan said forcefully, pressing a kiss to d’Artagnan’s lips, Treville looked into his eyes.

          “I love you,” he whispered.

          “And I you,” d’Artagnan replied.

          “Great, now that that’s done, can we get in there? Porthos owes me 20 sous,” Cornet barked with a grin. Treville laughed and clapped the man on the shoulder.

          “Far be it from me to stand between you and your debts!” he cried.

          Swing, hit, lift, turn, and throw. The man hefted his battered mattock and turned to swing once more at the rock below him. Chains linked his wrists together, and a shackle connected him to a chain on the floor, a lovely device when there was a cave-in. Porthos du Vallon, he mouthed to himself, he had to remember it, Porthos du Vallon. They only called him slave here, but he knew his name. His mother had given it to him with pride, had whispered it as she died, it had been screamed to the heavens as he and his made love under the stars, it had been whispered by those same screaming lips in love a moment later. Porthos du Vallon, he was Porthos du Vallon. To his left, a man dropped and he barely even reacted. He didn’t speak anymore, there was no need. Men were expendable here, it seemed like one dropped every day, but more took their place. There was no leaving the mine, in the night they slept in an adjoining chamber underground, in the day they worked until they died. It was the same, every day of the year. He’d forgotten what grass looked like, he could barely remember the color green, he couldn't remember the feel of the breeze against his cheeks, of cool water against his chest. His heart ached when he remembered a morning of romping and fun, shortly before he’d come to the mine. His wolf and his kitten, he’d been with them. His wolf, beautiful, but dangerous, he’d wandered alone, in his sadness, until he and kitten had found him. Kitten had burrowed his way into his heart first, burrowing in and latching on with tiny, sharp claws; he’d come next, and neither of them had let go, except for the day he’d went to the mine. His heart cried out when he remembered his kitten, his sweet, innocent kitten; beautiful, lithe, as different from wolf as day and night. However, kitten was scary when wolf and he were threatened, he almost smirked at those memories. However, he knew that these two were a dream, a dream from a different life, a hallucination brought about by his mind. A beautiful hallucination. He’d quite forgotten the names of his hallucinations, but that was alright. They were kitten and wolf, and they kept him sane. He’d been hear longer than anyone, he was a survivor, they said, he hated being a survivor. Sometimes, he wanted to start a rebellion just to have a pistol to his head. The bell sounded, and they were all herded back to the room. His beard was shaved, they kept it short so it didn’t get in the way. He and the others fought over the bucket to drink, and he got to go first. They fought over the loaf of bread that was tossed into the room, and he made sure it was evenly doled out. They settled down to sleep in little groups to keep warm, but he slept alone. When he was sure no one was looking, he took out his feather and button, the only things he had of his hallucinations, the only things that told him that there was a kitten and a wolf waiting out there for him, waiting to be with him. It gave him hope. He settled down to sleep dreaming of dark eyes and icy smiles.

          He woke up to yelling. Torches flickered on the pitch black walls, and he heard booming in the distance. The yelling and fire grew closer, was it another revolt? He knew better than to get involved with those, revolts meant death. He backed against the wall with the others. Then, a large man crashed into the room, he had warm eyes and brown hair. It was not his kitten or his wolf, but he thought he remembered this face, from long ago. The man knelt down in front of him, hands trembling. He found himself in the man’s arms.

          “Oh thank God,” the man breathed, “Oh lad, you have no idea how long we’ve been lookin’ for ya.” Suddenly, a name popped into his mind.

          “Cornet?” he rasped, his throat dry from not using it. The man’s face lit up with a huge smile and his eyes sparkled.

          “Aye, aye it’s me!” he cried, “Come on, let’s get ya out of here.” Just then, a shape loomed up behind him and drew a pistol. With a roar, Porthos pushed Cornet down and grabbed the pistol. Pain flared in his leg, and darkness descended on him.

          When he awoke next, he was wrapped in something warm. He opened his eyes and immediately shut them again, a great white light had blinded him, and he groaned. Something immediately stirred and rattled. His head was lifted, and cloth was wrapped around his head. “Here now, let’s try again,” Cornet’s voice stated. Porthos once again opened his eyes, and this time, it was only a muted light.

          “Better,” he rasped.

          “Ya want anything? Everyone’s been trippin’ over themselves tryin’ to make you comfortable,” Cornet informed him. Anything? Well, he probably shouldn’t ask for wolf and kitten.

          “Water?” he asked politely, Cornet gave a huff, he’d assumed too much then. His head was lifted, and he braced himself for the blow. A glass was held to his lips, and he drank deeply. He gave a hum of pleasure when he pulled away, the water was good and cool, it didn’t have chunks of rock floating in it.

          “Physician says that the bandages can come off in two days,” Cornet said, Porthos hummed.

          “Where, where are we?” he asked. He sank deeper into the soft thing (wonderful, soft, beautiful) that was beneath him, and felt bandages on his back. He’d almost forgotten about the whipping he’d received two days ago because he’d looked an overseer in the eye. Kitten and wolf flashed in his mind again, a sweet smile, a dry voice.

          “Oy now, what’s on your mind?” Cornet asked quietly.

          “I keep dreaming of these two men,” Porthos sighed.

          “Aramis and Athos,” Cornet supplied quietly. Their names flashed in his mind, how could he have forgotten them, the people he loved most in the world! He sat up, he had to find them! He remembered the auction, Aramis, being dragged off as he cursed, the panic in Athos’ eyes. How long had he been gone?! Hands pushed him back down. “Easy now, easy now. When you’re all healed up, we’ll be goin’ to get Aramis and Athos, I promise ya! We got the locations from the partner of the man at the auction, and all three of ya were on there,” Cornet soothed. Porthos eased back down onto the soft thing under his head, a pillow, it was a pillow.

          “Are we near the mine?” he asked.

          “Yes, had to take you lot out, but couldn’t transport ya. You’ll be goin’ back to Paris as soon as the bandages come off your eyes,” Cornet explained. Porthos thrashed on the bed, but the hands were like iron.

          “Have to get ‘Mis and ‘Thos,” he moaned.

          “You’re not goin’ anywhere! You’ve been shot in the leg, damn you!” Cornet roared. Porthos sank back onto the bed. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have raised my voice. How about this? We’ll wait, and if you’re better, we’ll talk to Captain Treville,” he said. Porthos had no choice but to agree. For two days he was never alone, he met d’Artagnan, a new apprentice (and Treville’s lover, as Cornet informed him on the second night with glee…apparently he’d been rooting for the arrangement since the lad had begun his apprenticeship) and Treville had come with his greetings. When the physician removed his bandages, he was still a little sensitive, but could keep his eyes open. He stumbled up after the man left, Cornet trailing him, and out of his tent. He sat down heavily in the grass and trailed his hand on the little shoots, never again would he take anything for granted. Cornet shot him a questioning gaze.

          “Didn’t let us out,” he rasped. Fury trailed up into the man’s eyes. Porthos limped towards Treville’s tent, time for the big question. He came in to see Treville buttoning up his doublet and d’Artagnan pulling on his boots, Treville sighed, obviously Cornet had informed him of their conversation. He put a gentle hand on his shoulder.

          “I’m sorry Porthos, but no, I can’t risk infection in your leg,” he whispered. Porthos’ heart crashed against his chest.

          “We’ll bring them back safe, we promise, we’ve already sent word for Serge to await you at the garrison,” d’Artagnan said. Without a word, Porthos walked out of the tent, he knew what he had to do. He snuck past a sleeping Cornet and got a spare horse out of the paddock that night; in the confusion, it wouldn’t even be missed. He tied it in the trees away from the camp, snuck back into his tent, and slept. When dawn came, he snuck out and filched some supplies. It would be so busy that no one would realize he was gone. Cornet would think that he went for a walk, to enjoy the air, as he was prone to do. Three hours after dawn, the Musketeers set out, Porthos following them. It was a three day ride to Gisors, the castle at which Aramis was held, Porthos had heard Treville and Cornet arguing about it. Athos was held at the castle in Beynac, but Aramis was being held in the closer location, and the Comte de Gisors was known to be a cruel man, very much disliked at court, so Aramis came first. When they finally arrived at the castle, Porthos was about to collapse. The Musketeers camped that night, and Porthos looked at his leg. It smelled like infection,  and that was certainly a complication. The camp prepared to attack at dawn, and Porthos followed them. When the fighting began, he stole a rapier and pistol from a dead guard, they felt like old friends in his callused palms. To work then.

          Aramis was peeling potatoes when it happened. Cook was screeching at a new slave, Chelise, and Cook was not very nice. Master had appointed her to run the kitchen, and she did so with a cruel hand. Aramis’ back stung as if to remind him of the whipping she gave him two days ago. The slaves here were beaten for anything and everything, even entertainment, Aramis could remember many punishments he had been forced to endure because a servant had blamed him for a wrongdoing. He wore no boots, those had been taken away as a “preventative measure”, slaves did not deserve such things anyways. He liked the other slaves, though, Roger was a favorite. He would sneak Aramis treats when he could. Cook only fed him once a day, and not even that if she forgot or he had been disobedient, disobedience ranged from looking someone above him in the eye or peeling the potatoes wrong. He licked his lips at the smell of her pie. He’d had hope at first, but that soon turned away, he’d been dreaming of Athos riding on a white horse, scooping him up and holding him, telling him it would be alright, he dreamed of Porthos sending away Cook and Master. But it had been too long, Athos and Porthos needed rescuers of their own, or they had forgotten about him. Cook slapped Chelise, and the girl looked as if she might _say something_. Aramis immediately shook his head and shot her a warning glare. He remembered the punishment for speaking, slaves were not allowed to speak. The muzzle that he’d had to wear for a week after he’d asked for some water was enough of a lesson, he hated the muzzle. He dreamed of Porthos and Athos, of dark hands and shining smiles, of beautiful eyes and dry wit. He only hoped he’d see them again. He must have been lagging, as a kick from Cook in the ribs let him know of his incompetence. She asked him why they hadn’t just shot him in the first week, Aramis wondered that too sometimes. Just then, there were screams from the house and guard bolted in.

          “Rescue,” he panted. Cook paled, she knew what to do. Inside his head, Aramis was screaming, this was another preventative measure. All the slaves were to be shot if rescue came, couldn’t have anyone running for help. The guard drew his pistol and Aramis swallowed, blinked. Twice. Three times. And then he ran. He ran and he ran and he ran. He heard the guard chasing after him, but he didn’t care. He started screaming, it was a dry, raspy, howl. His voice had not been used often enough, even with whispering Athos and Porthos’ names to himself each night like his own prayer. He tried screaming louder. The weapon, maybe he could get the weapon. He turned around and flew at the guard. There was a scrabble for the pistol, but Aramis was small and tired, and the guard was healthy and strong. Soon, Aramis had a pistol pointed at his head. He only hoped the guard would make it quick. There was a boom, and Aramis flinched. He wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t hurt! He looked up towards his savior and here stood the man of his dreams, smoking pistol in hand. He came! He came, he came, he came, he’d come, he was here! Porthos looked just as shocked and happy as he was, his eyes were wild, and sweat was on his brow.

          “Kitten,” he rasped. That did him, Aramis was not embarrassed to say that he fainted like a teenager.

          When Aramis recovered from his wonderful hallucination, he wondered where he was,this certainly didn’t feel like his corner of the kitchen cellar. He blinked his eyes open and realized he hadn’t hallucinated. Porthos was staring at him, he was staring at Porthos. Why was Porthos so far away?! He fairly dove into his arms, and Porthos caught him with a sob/laugh. The man soon had his arms full of wiggling him. He could not be close enough, everything had to be re-nuzzled, re-kissed, re-memorized. Porthos just held him close. When it seemed like his exploration had only gone on for a moment, Porthos lifted his chin. Oh, he was crying. Why was Porthos crying?! “I’ve missed you kitten,” he rasped, “Can ya say hi for me?” Aramis grew cold and looked around. Was Cook there with the muzzle, not the muzzle. But then he realized something, this was Porthos, Porthos didn’t do muzzles, Aramis was safe with Porthos and Athos. He opened his mouth to say hello, but all that came out was something that was like a croak or a mewl. A hand rubbed up and down his sides, carefully avoiding his back. “We’ll work on it,” Porthos whispered, “We got all the time in the world.” Aramis rather supposed they did. He burrowed deeper into Porthos’ chest when the man winced, and Aramis instantly gave him “the stare”. He may not have words at the moment, but they all knew the “are you hurt where are you hurt” stare, Porthos sighed. “Got shot in the leg a week ago. Got infected after ridin’. Shoulda seen Treville’s face when he realized I followed ‘im, coulda had my guts for garters if d’Artagnan hadn’t explained to him exactly what _he’d_ be doin’ if it was him!” Porthos laughed. d’Artagnan, who was d’Artagnan? Porthos saw his confused look and introduced a delighted Aramis to the newest chapter of the Captain’s love life. Aramis fell asleep with his deep voice as a lullaby, here, he was safe.

          Porthos watched as Aramis’ eyes drifted closed. The man gave a sigh as he fell into the arms of sleep. Porthos pressed a kiss to his temple and settled him more comfortably on his chest, he had to wonder when they’d let one another out of their sight, and they hadn’t even found Athos yet. Treville said that they would be riding to get their lover in style. They would be travelling in the back of a wagon, as Athos was closer than Paris was. Besides, he would be forced to chase Aramis after he went after Athos, or he would chase him…whichever story they decided to go with. Tomorrow, they would set out. Half on his chest and half on the cot, Aramis twitched unhappily, whimpering in fear, Porthos shushed him, ran his fingers through his matted hair. They would have to give the kitten a bath, though it probably would be out of a cold bucket. He pressed another kiss to his temple and closed his eyes. When Porthos awoke again, it was to Cornet leaning over them and shaking his shoulder. He gestured to a tray and Porthos shook Aramis’ shoulder. “’Ey ‘Mis, look who’s here,” he whispered. Brown eyes flew open and settled on Porthos, Aramis’ arms tightened around him and his eyes flew around the room. “Easy, easy. It’s all good, I’m ‘ere, I’m not leavin’,” he whispered, “Cornet here was just bein’ gentlemanly and brought breakfast,” Porthos’ stomach clenched at the way Aramis’ eyes lit up at the word “food”. Eyes flew to the bowl on the tray, and Aramis gave Cornet an apprehensive look. The man handed him the bowl, and Aramis ate it so quickly that he choked, and Cornet instantly snatched it away. Tears flooded Aramis’ eyes, and he gave out a choked rasp. Cornet looked to Porthos in desperation. The man held his hand out for the bowl, and Aramis looked at him warily. Porthos got a spoonful of the oatmeal and held it out. “Easy there kitten, no need to get all teary-eyed on ‘im. You were just takin’ it a little too fast is all, and we don’t want you chokin’. I did it the first couple of times too. Just let me help you, alright?” he soothed. Aramis shuffled up higher on his chest and opened his mouth like a baby bird. Cornet gave a snort and laughed as Porthos rolled his eyes. Porthos’ heart wept for Aramis when he was full after only half the bowl. The man smacked his lips contentedly. “Would ya like to sleep again, or do you want me to help ya wash? We’re on the road tomorrow, so I don’t know when we’ll have the chance,” Porthos asked. Aramis’ head shot up. A wash, the last wash he’d had was a dunking in the horse trough in winter! Porthos watched the excitement bloom in Aramis’ eyes, and he politely asked Cornet for the supplies. When Cornet brought them a bucket of water they’d set by the fire just for that, Aramis looked like he might cry.

          Treville walked towards the tent. Cornet had told him that Aramis was awake, and he wanted to see how the man was doing. He pulled open the tent flap and was surprised to see Aramis and Porthos sitting on the bed. Aramis was in his braes, and Porthos was washing him down gently. The bucket they’d put by the fire (Oh come now Captain, they might want it!) was being put to use. Aramis was leaning in to every touch and sighing contentedly. “I know this ain’t a warm bath kitten, but I promise we’ll get the tub as soon as we get home. We’ll fill it all up nice and full, and you and me and Athos’ll all get in, we’ll have some fun, and then we’ll have all our favorite foods in bed,” Porthos murmured as he gently scrubbed at the welts on Aramis’ back. Aramis practically purred in delight, and he snuggled in to Porthos. “None of that! I can’t wash ya if you’re crawlin’ all over me! And look, soap on my nice shirt! I liked this shirt, it was a good shirt!” Porthos cried in mock indignation as Aramis smiled. Treville had seen enough, Aramis was alive and recuperating, that’s all he needed to know. He shut the tent flap, feeling like an intruder. He stopped when he heard a roar from inside the tent. “I said dunk yer hair, not splash me!” roared Porthos. A dark blur raced out of the tent, a limping Porthos raging behind it. A weight crashed into Treville, and he saw a nervous looking Aramis nestled against him.

          “Glad to see that you’re well,” Treville said. Aramis gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Porthos neared them and glared at Aramis.

          “C’mon, let’s get ya cleaned up ya menace,” he growled. Aramis flashed him a smile and walked back inside the tent with Porthos. And yet he’d wondered how they had twenty grown men eating out of the palms of their hands. When tomorrow came, it saw Cornet supporting a limping Porthos (the fever had mostly gone down, but the wound still needed healing) to the wagon. They were pushed inside to find a wagon floor covered with two mattresses.

          “Thought that you would be more comfortable this way,” Cornet rumbled with a blush.

          “Please tell me that I’ll not be getting reports of stolen mattresses, blankets, or furs?” Treville groaned. Really, this was quite ridiculous.

          “Oh no!” d’Artagnan chirped as he came with Aramis, “The ladies of the town handed them over quite willingly after they heard of the plights of these two. Two friends who crossed the world…” An elbow and smile from Aramis stopped him. Oh, they would be having many conversations about their captain later. Aramis mounted up into wagon and was immediately lying at Porthos’ side. Cornet covered them both with a veritable mountain of furs and got into the driver’s seat. Treville then got to witness the great game of “let’s convince the captain that maybe all twenty of us need to guard the wagon”. With an escort of four very smug Musketeers around the wagon, the regiment was underway. Each man made sure to stop and introduce themselves to the duo, and Cornet regaled them all day with nearly six years of stories on their new brothers. They stopped for the night, and the duo just slept in the wagon. Porthos’ leg was nearly rid of all the infection, and Aramis’ back was getting somewhat better. His voice was starting to come back, and soon Treville guessed they would be enjoying the Spaniard’s conversations once more. When they finally arrived at Beynac’s castle they planned for one night, and decided it would be best if they took Athos quietly while he was working the field. It was a large castle and well-guarded, and Treville did not have the men to storm it. They gathered around the fire, and Porthos and Aramis prayed for the dawn to come quickly.

          Athos languished under the heat of the sun; the overseer would only bring water twice a day, and food once. His hands bled from the calluses they received, and he had no shoes. The overseer would come round every hour or so, and give him a flick of his whip to keep his focus. Athos leaned heavily on his scythe, his wrists and ankles were both shackled, and the scythe was very heavy. They would work all day, just to be thrown in a cage at night. In the winter, at least they were put in the cellar. Athos raised his arms in order to mop the sweat from his brow. His skin was red and burned, and his eyes watered from the sun. His throat and mouth were parched, he could barely feel any moisture in his mouth. His lips were cracked and bleeding, and the blood coated his lips. His eyes blinked continuously, and black spots invaded his vision. His feet were cut and bleeding, his arms were like jelly. He was so tired, maybe if he just rested. His hair had been hacked off, like it was at the beginning of every spring. It was in little tufts about his head. The overseer said that he was a slave, meant to work, not look pretty. He was panting for water, nearly resorting to going to the overseer for water, even though it would just get him splashed with it and not a drink. He was glad that Aramis and Porthos could not see him now. He was pathetic, they’d probably escaped by now, went on with their lives and he didn’t blame them. He thirsted for his loves like a drowning man thirsts for air. Frankly, drowning sounded like the lap of luxury about now. He knew that he was just skin and bones, only fed once a day and working straight from sun-up to sundown. He dreamed of the morning before the auction, of happiness, and love, and fun, and _water_ , and picked up his scythe. He heard rustling in the crops and gripped the scythe, not that he could swing it. The scythe was ripped out of his hands and a gloved hand was clapped in a vise-like grip over his mouth. He’d heard the stories, of the overseers hauling women off quietly, and his heart crashed against his chest. No. No! He closed his eyes and gave a muffled whimper, too weak to put up more than a token struggle. He was able to thrash some, but an arm wrapped around his chest like a band. He was pulled flush against another body and gave another pitiful whimper, all he could manage at this point. He tried to scream, but all he got was the urge to vomit. He tried to bite down on the hand, but it was no use. He gave a growl, might as well let the man think he was ferocious, and closed his eyes tighter. Then he heard the harried whispers, the voice whispering for him just to hush, that he was safe, he was alright. Athos opened his eyes and looked up, obviously he was dreaming. The figure of Treville loomed above him as Athos went weak with relief, and Treville took his weight with a grunt.

          “Easy now,” he whispered, “I’ve got you, but you’ve got to be silent, understood?” Athos nodded, eyes wide. He was finally getting out, thank God. Treville slowly released his mouth, and he turned around and embraced the man. Treville gave a surprised huff, and placed a hand round his neck.

          “Cap’n,” he croaked.

          “Hush now, we have to leave,” he whispered. With that, he picked up Athos like he were nothing more than a child (he probably weighed as much as one) and walked as quietly as he could through the brush. Athos closed his eyes, he didn’t have to be brave anymore, didn’t have to be strong. He heard the sounds of horses and men, harried voices, but two rose up above the rest.

          “Athos!” they cried. Athos’ eyes flew open, Porthos was climbing over the side of a wagon, Aramis was waiting impatiently behind.

          “Back in the wagon, I’ll bring him to you!” Treville barked. Porthos sat down with waiting arms. Couldn’t Treville walk faster?! The Captain seemed to sense his impatience and sped up slightly with a grin, and then he was floating in their air and with his beautiful loves. Porthos’ arms were round him like a cradle, and Aramis pressed kisses everywhere, Athos was in heaven.

          “Are you hurt love, what do ya need?” Porthos asked. Aramis was lifting up ragged garments, checking him over. He was almost afraid to ask.

          “Just ask, it’s yours,” Aramis comforted.

          “No ‘Mis, look at ‘is lips, he needs somethin’ down his throat,” Porthos rumbled. Aramis appeared in his line of vision and his eyes darkened with anger.

          “You’ll be alright, the Captain’s gone to get you some water, just hang on. Cornet, I want more water, the one skin the Captain has on his horse won’t keep him. I want at least three more. d’Artagnan, go to the river we found and fill up some buckets, he has the heat stroke, I need to get his temperature down,” Aramis commanded. Both men did as commanded.

          “Just lie back and rest love, we have you,” Porthos murmured. There were footsteps and Aramis murmured a “finally”. Porthos’ hand came up to thread through his hair only for him to growl, Athos gave a choked whimper.

          “Hush now love, you shouldn’t speak, I don’t want you to strain your throat more than it is. Now, open your mouth for me,” Aramis soothed. Athos opened his desert-like mouth and waited. Water, blessed, cool, beautiful, wonderful, water was poured in; Athos instantly latched onto the skin and _drank_. Hands took it from him, and he gave off a whimper.

          “Easy now love, you can have it, I just think Aramis needs to hold it, take little sips,” Porthos encouraged. Little sips, yes. Please, just give me water. The water was back and Aramis didn’t let him gulp again. Porthos murmured little encouragements and Athos closed his eyes. Aramis mentioned someone getting rid of “those damn shackles” and Athos curled in closer. A blanket was spread under him but the water was taken away, and Athos clawed pitifully in the air for the relief. Gentle hands put his arms down.

          “Now just lie still, we need to treat the heat stroke. We need to see if you can keep the water down,” Aramis crooned. A few more blankets were spread under him and he was stretched flat. His shirt and trousers were removed, and Aramis examined his feet with a noise of sympathy. He heard something being unscrewed and water splashed onto his chest; it felt beautiful, heavenly even. He practically purred as it was poured everywhere, his hair, his face, his chest, his legs, everything was wonderfully wet and cool. He practically preened under the cool ministrations.

          “Just lie still love, I know it feels good, but you’ve got to lie still,” Porthos encouraged, “You’re doin’ good.” A kiss was delivered to his temple, and he received a few more sips of water. The water eventually stopped, and he was patted dry. Aramis turned him on to his belly and spread some cool salve on his back, Athos gave a sigh as the welts were treated. Aramis wrapped the welts and worked on his feet. Just then, he heard someone else climb up into the wagon. He cracked open his eyes and saw a familiar figure.

          “Cornet,” he rasped.

          “Hush now, no talking, just rest,” Aramis comforted, “We’re right here.” Cornet gave him a grin and held up some picks.

          “Anyone call for these?” he asked jokingly. Athos’ felt the corners of his mouth twitch, it felt strange. Cornet’s eyes grew somber when he saw the shackles. “Yeah, you just lie back, I’ll get ‘em off,” he murmured. Soon, Athos’ wrists and ankles felt much lighter, he reached over to rub them, but Porthos stopped him.

          “What did we say about restin’?” he asked with mock-seriousness. Athos lowered his head into his lap as Aramis spread salve on his wrists and ankles and wrapped them. Once every cut was treated, Aramis and Porthos moved him onto a dry fur and spread a thin blanket over him, after which Porthos ran a hand over his hair.

          “Get some sleep love, we’re right here,” Aramis whispered. Athos smiled.

          “Yeah trust me, we’re not leavin’ anytime soon,” Porthos smiled. He opened his mouth, but Porthos just gave him a few sips of water and massaged his scalp. Athos heaved a contented sigh and curled up on his side. Porthos settled him against his chest and Aramis turned to face him, they both wrapped their arms around him and smiled. Porthos continued to massage his scalp while Aramis murmured sweet nothings as he fell asleep. When he awoke the next morning, he wanted to cry. It was such a lovely dream, a beautiful dream. Against his will, his eyes cracked open. Aramis was still facing him, and he was practically on top of Porthos. The blanket had been discarded in sleep, and the wagon was moving steadily. Athos amused himself by drawing designs on Porthos’ chest until he woke with a grin. He ran his thumbs along Athos’ cheekbones and smiled, he was plied with water by a mothering Aramis, and after that came a broth that was so delicious Athos shed a few tears. Normally he would be greatly ashamed for this display of emotion, but his heart was exhausted beyond caring. He slept again in Aramis’ arms while Porthos stretched his leg outside. When he awoke again, it was the middle of the night and both of the others were asleep, though he was not tired in the slightest. A smiling young man, who had apparently been having trouble sleeping as well, jumped into the wagon and talked with him, but he fled the wagon when Aramis began waking. Aramis yawned and looked at him with a smile.

          “How long have you been awake?” he asked.

          “I woke in the night, but didn’t want to disturb you,” Athos replied sheepishly.

          “I like being disturbed,” Aramis deadpanned, “And who was here?” Athos told him of the young man and Aramis laughed. “You met d’Artagnan? Well, the lad’s certainly made quite a splash in the regiment,” he whispered, and then he told him the story of the young man and Captain, Athos was quite happy for Treville. He smiled when he saw the two trot past the wagon, and Treville cautiously squeeze the man’s fingers. Aramis gave him more sips of water while Porthos washed him down with cold cloths. When they were finished, Athos once again slept. They were within sight of Paris the next day. The wagon dropped them off at their apartments, d’Artagnan and Treville dismounting with them.

          “You think that we’d race halfway through France just to leave you on your own?” he demanded. Athos smiled as Porthos carried him into the house, and they were all astonished at what they saw. Food was littered on a table, furs were on the bed, and everything was clean. Numerous packages were on the chair by the fire.

          “I may have sent someone ahead to notify the king that you’d been found. He was…pleased,” Treville said with a smile.

          “They’ve been keeping it up for you, for when you got home,” d’Artagnan whispered. Athos’ eyes watered with tears.

          “We’re home,” he whispered.

          “Yeah, home,” Porthos responded.

          “And it’s good to be back,” Aramis sighed.


	2. Interlude #1: That bath that Porthos talked about that I Completely Forgot about

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys have their bath, and Aramis is nervous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaannnd the four interludes that nobody asked for, plus the epilogue! I swear, I didn't plan this, I wanted this to be a one-shot! But this universe would not leave me alone, it demanded fluff! And so, here are four fluffy/angsty/lovey interludes, plus an epilogue. Enjoy!

They were looking at him with those pleading expressions, Treville knew, but he couldn't figure out what they wanted. His three rescued Musketeers sat in a row at the edge of the bed, all looking at him with puppy eyes (even Athos, and he  _knew_ better damnit!). Wait, they were home now, in private. The last two weeks had been spent in a wagon, with others near, or else in slavery. Yes, he would want some time alone too. Treville cleared his throat, and d'Artagnan looked up from the chest, where he was rooting for nightshirts. "My love, why don't we go and see about dinner, we'll let the landlady know to prepare some hot water," Treville stated. d'Artagnan's eyes widened in sudden understanding, and he followed him out of the room with stuttered assurances of a soon return. As he walked out the door, Porthos shot Treville a look of what could only be undying gratitude. They closed the door softly behind them, and the room descended into silence. 

"Finally," Porthos breathed. He pulled Athos' boots off for him and swung his legs up on the bed. 

"So, who'll be fetching water, as Porthos here has a bad leg?" Aramis asked. 

"Leg's fine, I'll get it," Porthos injected. 

"You shall not! Your leg is still weak, and I am strong enough to..." Athos stated. 

"Ah yes, after nearly dying of thirst and collapsing from exhaustion two days ago, it seems that  _I'll_ be the one to haul up the water!"Aramis yelled. Porthos crossed his arms and pouted, while Athos smirked at the Spaniard. 

"Fine, Porthos and I shall just sit up here and engage in debauchery while you fetch the water," Athos said nonchalantly. 

"Ah yeah, sinful acts, really," Porthos mused. Aramis let forth a keening whine of desperation. 

"We shall be quite spent after a short time, oh say, by the time a large bucket of water can be hauled up the stairs," Athos replied. 

"Yep, just ain't got the strength for it yet," Porthos sighed. Aramis crawled up, put his head on Porthos' thigh, and gave him a watery-eyed look of absolute desperation, a small mewl coming out of his mouth. "A-Athos, he's givin' me the stare, make 'im...make 'im stop," Porthos said nervously. Brown eyes widened, and Porthos brushed a hand through Aramis' curls. The Spaniard seized two of his fingers and placed two of them in his mouth, suckling on them while still looking up at Porthos with an innocent expression. "Athos!" Porthos groaned. Athos shot Aramis a stern look, which he responded to with a muffled mewl. 

"Aramis," Athos said, "If you think that we are doing  _anything_ more strenuous than  _rolling over_ in this bed for  _at least_ a week, you are sorely mistaken." With a whine, Aramis released Porthos' fingers. 

"You and Porthos too?" he asked. 

"We were just teasin', kitten, no need to get all defensive!" Porthos exclaimed. Aramis eyed them both suspiciously, as if they would cast off their trousers and go to the second he walked out the door. Five minutes later, Porthos was grumbling as they all three hauled the steaming bucket up. 

"Don't see why we all three had to get it," he grumbled. They set it on the floor and laid their nightclothes in front of the fireplace, to warm them up. Towels were placed there as well, and Athos filled the tub. When he stripped off his shirt, Porthos was saw the scars his lover bore, and he swallowed down bile. Aramis bore many of the same marks, and Porthos would bet he did as well. Porthos climbed into the middle of the tub, and Aramis soon joined him. Athos climbed in last, and Porthos wrapped his arms around them both. Contentment seized his heart, and he gave a sigh from the bottom of his heart. Porthos grabbed the soap and got some bubbles in his hands, after which he asked Athos to dunk his head under the water. With gentle hands, Porthos kneaded the soap through Athos' hair. The man gave a moan and relaxed into Porthos, which made the big man all the more happy. Aramis got some soap on a wet cloth and began to rub at Athos' chest. The man shifted a little closer, as he was on his side. Porthos maneuvered his head to wherever he needed it to be, and soon Athos' skin was wrinkled and pink. After that, Aramis examined his back while Porthos shaved his beard, which was patchy and had obviously been shaved with a dull knife. 

"There we are!" Aramis exclaimed after a time, "All done, now who's next?" When Athos took the cloth and Porthos once again soaped his hands, Aramis looked like he might protest, but they both gave him stern looks. Soon, Athos was rubbing the cloth in gentle circles on his chest as Porthos threaded fingers through his curls. Aramis was fairly purring, and he was wiggling and leaning into every touch. A cleared throat from Athos had the man ceasing his movements, though Athos insisted on pressing a kiss in every place he scrubbed. Aramis thought he was in heaven, and he must have dozed off, as he jolted when Porthos shook his shoulder. Porthos once again began shaving his chin as Athos cleaned his back with the utmost care. Aramis was soon done, and Porthos received the same treatment. When they finished, the water was a disgusting brown, but all three men were pink, wrinkled, and content. They lay naked in the front of the fire, allowing the gentle flames to dry their bodies. No words were spoken, tonight was a night of safety, of reassurance. They were safe, they were home, hope was on the horizon. When the flames had warmed them, they grabbed up warm sleeping trousers and shirts were pulled on with sighs of contentment. Aramis plied Athos with some more water, still worried that the man was suffering from the heat stroke. Though still weak, the thirst was all but a far-off nightmare in the man's mind. Even so, the brown-haired man was dropped into the middle amidst numerous protests. He was pulled to Aramis' chest as he lay on his back, and the protests were changed into a sigh of warm contentment. One arm was pillowed under Aramis' head, clasping his hand on the other side. The other arm was snaked under Porthos, as Porthos' arm was snaked under him. The big man's forehead was pressed to Athos' temple and was a warm presence at Aramis' ribs. 

"G'night kitten," Porthos yawned. 

"Good night my love," Aramis responded sleepily, "Good night other love." Silence reigned after this admission. 

"Aramis, did you mean me or 'im?" Porthos asked confusedly. 

"See this is why we have separate names...Aramis?" Athos asked. Snores drifted through the warm room and Athos huffed a small laugh. 

"Good night kitten," two voices proclaimed, "We love you." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to comment, and thank you for reading!


	3. Interlude #2: In Which Athos Makes a Move

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the day of love, and Athos must know.

With trembling hands, Athos tied the blue sash and clipped on the little pin. Two bouquets sat side by side on his table, and he found them lacking. What had he been thinking?! This was no gift for the two men he secretly loved, he ought to throw them in the rubbish pile! Fresh roses of red, pink, and white glittered in the morning sun as they on the table for inspection. He'd found them in the ruins of an old garden, and had spent all morning pulling at them like a madman. Even now, the knees of his trousers were covered with green stains, and his fingers were cut and bleeding from the thorns. When the bell tolled the eighth hour, he plucked up his courage. He knew that they would reject his suite, would throw the pitiful little bouquets in his face with looks of disgust and biting words, but he knew that he would have to try. He couldn't take it any longer, this aching need that echoed through his heart! Today was the Day of Love, and everyone in Paris was walking around with grins on their faces and love in their eyes. Athos' eyes only held fear and resignation. When he arrived at the garrison, Cornet and Treville were going over plans while Henri and Bertrand were sparring. The garrison only consisted of one stone building with a stables, but he knew that the captain dreamed of a garrison that was truly a base of operations for a king's guard. Aramis and Porthos were standing under an archway, and Athos hid the flowers behind his back like a boy with his first love. He walked slowly forward until Porthos and Aramis spotted him. They both looked at him with confusion while Cornet and the captain found this to be a good time to meander away. "Hello," Athos said as he looked stubbornly at the ground. 

"Mornin'" Porthos greeted. 

"Good morning my friend!" Aramis chirped. He could not do this, would not do this. A hand was placed under his chin, and he looked up into Porthos' concerned eyes. 

"What's got you all scared?" he asked. Athos licked his lips and gathered up his courage, bracing himself for the disgust that was sure to follow. He slowly withdrew the two bouquets. To Aramis, there was mostly red roses, with a few pink and white scattered in. The beautiful blue sash that Athos had seen him admiring in the market as they patrolled was tied around it, a little clip with the fleur-de-lis held it in place. Aramis' eyes grew huge as he accepted the small bundle in trembling hands. Porthos had not even reached for his, and Athos' heart hardened itself for what was to come. Porthos had mostly white roses, with some pink and red interspersed throughout. A dark bandanna was tied around his cloth, as the man proclaimed that his skin was irritated by his hat. An identical pin was clipped on to the bandanna. Tears blurred the big man's eyes, and Athos felt like he would vomit. He'd hurt Porthos, made him cry. He was the scum of the earth, and he obviously didn't deserve them. Aramis looked up from running his fingers over the sash again and again and Athos knew he should leave, it was obvious this would only bring about more pain. Setting the bouquet down on the ground gently, wishing that it would just sink into the earth or just disappear, Athos turned on his heel, ready to go back to his room and sob. A gentle but strong grip was placed on his shoulder and he winced, so it wasn't going to be that easy then. he turned around to look into the eyes of the two men he loved. "This what I think it is?" Porthos asked hoarsely. 

"I've loved you both for months now, and I felt I could contain my feelings no longer. Please no that I meant neither of you any offense, nor have I sought to hurt you. This-this was completely my doing, and it is obvious I have offended you. Please know that if you don't wish to speak to me...mmph!" he said as steadily as he could, only to be interrupted by Porthos' lips crashing into his. Athos gave a shocked noise, and Porthos brought him close as Aramis smiled at them. When Porthos released him, he placed two hands on either side of his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. 

"Oh, just shut up," he rasped, "I ain't gonna sit there and listen to you talk bad about yourself." Athos looked at the man in astonishment and looked to Aramis, who was staring at him with watery eyes. Athos tried to ask what was going on, but only a confused noise squeaked out of his throat. 

"Oh Athos, I've been in love with the two of you for months now. It-it's just that I didn't want know how to ask," Aramis said quietly. 

"I've didn't know either," Porthos chuckled, "What with you bein' all stoic, I thought ya didn't return the sentiment." Athos was an idiot, a very large idiot. Porthos bent down and picked up the bouquet with delicate hands and an awed smile. "Now, I believe that someone didn't get his say in all this," Porthos said. Athos looked to Aramis, who looked nervous and shifted from foot to foot. Reluctantly, the Spaniard stepped forward and grasped Athos' face. Athos swallowed heavily and looked steadily into Aramis' eyes. The man carefully leaned forward and gently touched his lips to Athos'. This kiss was sweet and tender, and Athos opened his mouth with a moan. Aramis' eyes flew open, his pupils huge and dark. A hand fisted itself into Athos' hair, and he groaned. A cleared throat from Porthos had them separating with gasps. "Now gents, I don't have a problem with ya bein' sweet and lovin', but we probably oughta do it somewhere that's not in front of all and sundry. Now, what say ya that we continue this...discussion tonight?" Porthos asked. Athos' heart thudded to a stop. Oh God, they'd just made love like green lads in front of their Captain. Athos' eyes flew to the yard and were relieved when the Captain and Cornet were still talking. When they all trooped to the yard, the bouquets hidden in the stables, the Captain looked up at them. 

"Gents, I don't have anything for you today, why don't you go on home?" he asked. Athos' face split into a grin, and Porthos put a hand on each of their shoulders and led them out before the Captain could change his mind. Athos knew that this would be his most memorable Day of Love for years to come. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, please feel free to comment:)


	4. Interlude #3: Lost Kitten (Aramis' Scary Night on the Town and What Became of it)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis gets himself in trouble and finds help from an interesting source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, we get to meet a new character in this chapter! Warning for mention of rape!

"Now you're sure you'll be alright?" Athos asked. He was putting on his doubet as he and Porthos puttered about the room dressing for the day. 

"Yes yes, Treville needs you two since Cornet and Henri got themselves injured on that mission, I'm sure that palace duty will be manageable without me," Aramis replied as he lounged on the bed, reading a Latin text on medicinal herbs. Athos yanked his belt on and groaned in frustration as there weren't enough holes. Porthos made a noise of sympathy and Athos just made do with the last one. Aramis puttered around the apartment after they left, even scrubbing the floor. When that was all said and done, he walked over to the tub, intent on having a wash. He'd not thought of the wet floor and slipped, though he caught himself on a piece of fabric. The fabric came with a rip, and Aramis found himself on the floor. Looking up, he saw that he half of Porthos' black bandanna clutched in his hand. Tears instantly flooded his eyes, and he sniffled. Porthos, and Athos for that matter, were officially going to kill him. Why did it have to be the black one, the one that was tied to roses so long ago?! He had to fix this somehow. Athos had said who he got it from, some man named Jacques who dyed cloth near the Court of Miracles. He had to fix this, he'd get Porthos a new bandanna, a nice bandanna. He would tell him of course, look at him with the big eyes as he presented his redemption, but he would fix this. His decision made, Aramis retrieved his hat and walked out the door towards the market. When he neared it, he was reminded just how long they'd been from Paris. It seemed that the market changed daily, let alone in the span of six years. The market that he saw sprawled before him was completely different from the one he'd know and loved six years ago. He wandered the stalls, looking for the old man that Athos had once mentioned. He asked for directions, but no one knew where the old man was, or even if he was still in business. And so, Aramis wandered. He looked and he looked, and he could not find the man. When he finally took notice of something more than his surroundings in the market, he noticed that it was getting dark. He also noticed that he was lost, very lost. So lost that he did not have any idea where he was. Athos and Porthos would be back by now, they'd probably been back for a few hours! What would they think, when they saw the bandanna and no him?! A few panicked tears pricked his eyes and he swiped them away quickly. The Red Guards, yes, he could ask for directions! He approached the duo that were patrolling the marketplace and quietly cleared his throat. "I am sorry, but could you please tell me where I am?" he asked quietly, "And how get to the Musketeer garrison?" Best not to let them know where he lived, once he got in the area he could find his own way back home. The men looked at him, Aramis wished for his pauldron (Treville had dropped it off, along with Athos and Porthos', two days ago, though he told them he didn't want to see their faces for another two weeks), and cringed under the glares of the men. 

"Find yer own way there," one growled, pushing him down. He landed on his rump with a grunt, and he looked up at the big men with big eyes. They continued their patrol, laughing all the way. He looked around the market, desperately trying to figure out what way he should head. It was obvious he wouldn't be getting any help, everyone had seen what the Red Guards had done. North, he could head north. It was now getting very dark, and it looked like it might soon rain. He hoped that maybe Athos and Porthos came looking for him. He got up from the street and headed north. He still wasn't at full strength; his back was aching like none other, his legs felt like jelly, and his stomach ached from emptiness. Maybe he would be heading into areas that he knew. He stopped to rest on a step, hoping that none would disturb him. He was sorely wrong, as he found out a short time later. A door flew open, and a man loomed behind him. Reacting from the nervousness that had been ingrained in him over the last five years, he scrabbled back. The man seized a piece of wood and glared ferociously at him. 

"Forgive me Monsieur, I was tired and only looking for a place to rest," Aramis stuttered. The man swung the wood at him. 

"Off ya go, off ya go, ya vagrant!" he bellowed. Aramis' eyes filled with shocked tears as the wood smacked his arm, and he turned tail and ran. He didn't register what corners he took, and when he finally stopped, he was more lost than ever. It was now fully dark outside and Aramis was beginning to panic. It could take him days to find his way back, and he had very little money. He stumbled into an alleyway and sat down heavily. He shoudn't have done that, as three shadows soon loomed over him. He gulped, he wasn't that stupid, he knew what happened in dark alleys at night. He hoped that they only wanted his purse. A boot to his stomach made all the air leave him in a wheeze, and he crashed over onto his side. Boots flew at his ribs, and he covered his chest with his arms. When the boots finally stopped, arms seized him. His coat was opened harshly, and it was ripped off. His hat was tossed aside, and his purse was taken. He clawed frantically for his coat, it was only May and nights were still cold, but only received another kick for his trouble. The feet walked away, and Aramis pressed his head down into the ground. His head ached from falling over, his arms and chest were on fire, and he was still lost and now was penniless. A clap of thunder rolled across the sky and rain started to fall. He gave a small whimper and curled in farther on himself. Blood poured from his nose and his lip, and he shivered. He wanted Porthos, wanted Athos, wanted to be warm and safe, wanted to be  _home_. First one fat tear, and then another, and then another fell out of his eyes. He was tired, hurt, hungry, thirsty, and  _scared_. He could cry if he wanted. His tears turned into sobs when he saw his ruined sash lying in the now muddy streets. It was nearly torn in half, and muddy footprints showed where he'd been kicked. He should get up, but he didn't know if he could. He was now soaked from the rain and shivering, and a cough wracked him. He looked around and saw no lights, not that anyone would help him anyways. He knew that he looked a little stranger at first with his thin frame and large coat, so he knew that he looked positively horrid now. Mud dried in his hair and face, but he didn't care. In the morning he would heave himself up and continue on his merry way. When he looked up at the entrance to the alley, he saw a woman walk by with her basket of goods. She must have been a late patron of the market. He blinked his eyes and turned them back down. It wasn't like she would be any different than the others, but then he heard the steps. 

"Excuse me monsieur, are you-are you well?" came a quiet voice. Aramis let out an involuntary whimper as a hand was place on his shoulder, and he scrambled back, throwing his hands over his face. A sigh was heard. "I think that answers me enough, are you hurt?" she asked. Aramis needed to speak, needed to ask her for directions so he could get home. 

"Do-do you know the way to the Musketeer garrison, I live near there," he whispered. A woman with red hair knelt in front of him, her sweet face pinched with concern. 

"You're a ways from home then, but I am too. C'mon, I'll get you there, but you'll have to help," she said. Aramis nodded, but let out a cry as his ribs were jostled, and she instantly shuffled closer. 

"My home's closer, I'll get you there and get you warm, you're freezing," she said resolutely as she threw Aramis' arm around her shoulder. Together, they staggered like drunks through the streets of Paris. Aramis breathed a sigh of relief as they were finally in familiar places. They approached a modest home and she went in the door. "Lucky my husand's not home," she murmured. Aramis didn't grace that statement with a response. She lowered him down in a chair and stoked up the fire. She divested him of his shirt and tsked when she saw his ribs. "I'll need to wrap them," she murmured, "Wait here." She came back with bandages and wrapped his ribs tightly. 

"May I know the name of my gallant rescuer?" he asked quietly. 

"Madame Constance Bonacieux," she replied, "And you?"

"I am called Aramis," he said. She smiled at him and placed his discarded boots in front of the fire, which was across from the door. Along with that went his shirt and trousers. She slipped a nightshirt over him and led him to a room and into a bed. She returned with some warm tea. 

"For the pain and sleep," she said quietly. Aramis nodded and drank deeply. He drifted to sleep with dreams of the times Porthos and Athos had nursed him back to health. When he awoke the next morning, his head was hazy and slow. It was obvious that the tea hadn't quite worn off yet, though why had he woken? He then heard the heavy knocking on the door. He remembered that his room was quite close to it. He heard Madame Bonacieux running for the door and opening it. He heard her converse in a soft tone, though stern. It was obvious this was none of his business, and he allowed his mind to settle, he wanted as much rest as he could before she tired of him and forced him to be on his way. Constance was again speaking, though in sterner tones. 

"Please Madame, we just need to know if you've seen him. We've been searching for most of yesterday and all through the night, and we have not found him. He is about my height and weight, with dark hair and eyes. He would have been wearing a tan coat with a blue sash," a voice said almost desperately. He should recognize it, it was familiar as an old coat, but his frazzled mind couldn't name the dry voice. Constance spoke again, sternly this time, and it seemed that the men would leave. Just then, there was a strangled choke and a bellow. 

"Athos look, 'is boots, over there by the fire!" the voice boomed. There was a crash, and Constance yelled. Athos. Wait. Athos! Athos and Porthos! 

"Madame, I highly recommend you tell us where he is," Athos said in a cold (but also somewhat relieved) voice. Aramis should probably intervene. He heard doors being thrown open and boots rushing through the house. 

"Aramis, Aramis where are ya?" Porthos cried, "Aramis answer me please!" Aramis' brain tried to form words, but all that came out was a mewl. It was enough. With a crash, the bedroom door was open and he lifted in strong arms. His exhausted mind heard Athos and Madame Bonacieux arguing loudly in the hall. 

"And I'll tell you that you will not take him! He's ill and exhausted, and I don't even know who you are!" she cried sternly, "And if you think that I'm going to let you walk out the door with someone I've taken into my home, you are sadly mistaken Monsieur!" 

"Is he hurt?" Athos asked, ignoring her protests. 

"Don't know, he hasn't talked to me yet," Porthos said anxiously. Hands felt his forehead and lifted his disarrayed bangs from his eyes. 

"Aramis, are you hurt? You need to speak to us," Athos said in a gentle tone. 

"I found him in an alley last night, he was hurt and terrified, and he was soaked to the bone, so I took him here. He only told me to take him to the Musketeer garrison, and I wasn't sure if I could haul him there myself, so I took him here. I gave him a tea for the pain and sleep, and he was very tired in the first place, so I think he's just a little confused. The tea would take longer to wear off, and you two woke him, what with that infernal pounding," the lady sighed. 

"Aramis, is this true, just nod your head," Athos asked softly. Aramis finally was able to nod his heavy head and a hand ran through his hair. 

"He can't keep his eyes of 'Thos, he's obviously done in. Go on and sleep kitten, we'll keep ya safe," Porthos whispered. With a sigh, Aramis nuzzled into Porthos' chest and drifted off to sleep. When he awoke next, it was to find himself still cradled in Porthos' arms, though the man was leaning back against something and was sitting. 

"I must apologize again Madame for our treatment of you," Athos whispered. 

"It is Constance, and think nothing of it. If it had been my love going missing, I would broken down every door in Paris," she whispered. Athos spluttered and Aramis heard Constance chuckle. "If the raw panic wasn't enough, then the fact that your friend here refuses to release him even when lying in a bed, and the fact that you have not been more than an arm's distance away, says plenty," she chuckled. Aramis liked this lady, he hoped she wasn't too offended. 

"Love or not, we should not have acted so hastily, it is just that..." Athos said heavily. 

"We found his sash, not three hours ago. Found it in some alley ripped and dirty, with blood lying near it. We knew he never would'a parted with that sash, not without a fight," Porthos whispered. Aramis shifted in Porthos' arms, and the arms tightened round him. "You awake kitten?" came the whispered question. 

"Hmm," was the response from said kitten. 

"Aramis, what happened, where did you go?" Athos asked quietly, "And where is your coat?" Aramis' heart seized, and a hand rubbed up and down his back. 

"'S all good kitten, you're safe, we just need to know whose heads to knock together," Porthos soothed. 

"Was cleanin' and slipped, ruined Porthos' bandanna. Went to go and find 'im another one, but got lost. Asked the Red Guards for directions and got pushed down. I walked until legs hurt and sat down, just to rest! Man got angry and hit my arm, and I ran. I found the alley, and these men found me. They kicked me all over, and they took my coat and my money for the bandanna. Left me alone after they got what they wanted, and Constance found me," Aramis whispered, "Sorry Athos, sorry P'thos." Porthos was shaking, and tears ran down his cheeks, Porthos was obviously angry about his bandanna. A sob choked out from his throat, and then another. "So sorry, so sorry, I'll fix it," he sobbed, "I know it was special, didn't mean to!" 

"I ain't mad about the damn bandanna!" Porthos bit out, and Aramis flinched. He was in bigger trouble than he thought. 

"Porthos," Athos said sternly, "You're scaring him." Aramis' heart stopped, and he realized that he was trembling against Porthos' chest. A shaky breath blew out of Porthos' lungs, and Aramis braced himself for the punishment he was so obviously going to be receiving for ripping Athos' special (very special, the gift that told Porthos that Athos loved him) bandanna to Porthos. And then he remembered his beautiful sash, his special gift, and another sob welled up. This was all his fault, Athos and Porthos had been up all night looking for him, Constance had put him up, they'd offended her, and he'd scared the two men he loved the most. The sob burst out and he started shaking harder. His mind was a blur, his ribs were on fire, and he just wanted yesterday not to have happened. 

"Love, p-please calm down, I'm not mad at you, I promise! Accidents happen, there's no reason I should be mad! Oh love, I could never get mad at you for that! Please, please don't be afraid," Porthos whispered, "I was angry at the men who'd hurt ya, turned a blind eye or pushed ya away when you needed help." Aramis tried to stave off his tears, and was able to lessen his shaking. 

"All is well Aramis, we were never angry," Athos whispered, "There was no reason for it." Aramis sniffled and looked up into Porthos' eyes, found only reassurance. 

"My sash," he slurred, his mind was still muddled and shaky. 

"Was destroyed by actions not your own. That sash was only a length of cloth, a representation of our bond, not nearly so important as the love I feel for you," Athos whispered. Aramis' breath hitched, and Porthos rubbed his back. 

"He's right, we're not gonna drift not love each other just because the damn bandanna's gone. I love you kitten, and that'll never change," Porthos whispered. Arms joined Porthos', and Aramis found himself in a cradle of warmth. He was loved, he was found, and they were forever. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Aramis! I was originally going to do just a short, cute little chapter, but it got away from me! I know that this kind of has Aramis in a helpless position, but there are some things to remember. Aramis wasn't on duty, so there wasn't any real reason to where he pauldron or his weapons. Also, by the time he's lost, he's been walking around for hours, and his full strength isn't back yet, so he's a little more defenseless here. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!


	5. Lost Kitten Part 2 (Athos and Porthos' Nighttime Adventures)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events of Lost Kitten from Athos and Porthos' POV.

Porthos flexed his shoulders wearily as he and Athos traveled down the street, duty had been harder and it was obvious that the two men weren't back at full strength. He breathed a sigh when their apartments came in to view, and even Athos smiled a little. Porthos was looking forward to a wash a night regaling Aramis with the new tales of the palace. When they unlocked the door, it to was scrubbed floors and a bathtub that was set out. However, there was no sign of their lover. "Aramis?" Athos called. Porthos looked around and didn't see any sign of the man. They weren't in any need of supplies, and Aramis hadn't mentioned going out, had something happened? Athos was examining the room, looking for a note or a sign of where Aramis was. He made a wounded noise and held up a ripped bandanna; Porthos took it and sighed. He was disappointed that the memorable gift was now ruined, but it was old and worn from overuse, he would have had to replace it soon. Besides, the bandanna was just that, a length of cloth. 

"C'mon Aramis, I ain't mad!" he said gently, "I swear!"

"Aramis!" Athos called. He looked round in confusion and went to the hooks, rustled through the chest, and finally looked up at Porthos again. "His coat and sash are gone, and his purse is not on the table," Athos said. They didn't need supplies, and Aramis hadn't told them he was going out, and the look of confusion the pair shared said enough. Something wasn't right.

"Well, we best go find 'im then," Porthos said as he pulled on his gloves.

"Indeed," Athos said with a smile. Athos stopped smiling when it was beginning to get late and there was still no sign of their kitten. "We have to find him, this area is not as good as it once was six years ago," Athos said nervously. 

"Well, he ripped my bandanna, maybe he went to Jacques to repair it," Porthos said and Athos smiled. 

"Well then, let us go look there," he said. They walked to the market and began to ask after Jacques. It appeared that the man was not in business any longer, and finally an old woman gave them the answers they sought. 

"You two weren't the only ones askin' after Jacques today," she sighed.

"What did he look like, where did he go?" Athos demanded. 

"About your height and your weight, dark hair and eyes, pretty little thing. Obviously lost though, and askin' after Jacques," she said, "Poor man died three summers ago."

"And of course you informed him of this?" Athos asked. 

"I did not, I just heard him askin' others, he didn't ask me!" she cried, "He went down that road there." Athos tipped his hat and continued down the road that she had pointed, Porthos silently seething beside him. It didn't help when they encountered two Red Guards. Porthos gestured towards the pair and Athos nodded. It was now getting dark, and they were getting desperate. They slowly approached the pair, who scowled at them. 

"How long have you gentlemen on duty?" Athos asked, disposing of the niceties, not that they would do any good. 

"Six hours our so, just headin' back," the first growled. 

"We're lookin' for a friend, dark eyes and hair, tan coat and blue sash," Porthos asked, "He's about his height and weight, have ya seen 'im?" 

"We saw him about two hours ago down in the market, looking for the way to the Musketeer garrison," the second said. 

"And you informed him of the way, as is your duty, of course," Athos said quietly. 

"Of course, we told 'im which way and he went, he's probably waitin' there now for ya!" the first said, as if speaking to a child. 

"Funny that, as we were just there an hour ago, and he wasn't. Captain was quite angry, findin' out that his best shot was missin'," Porthos growled as he grabbed the two by their collars. 

"We will have the truth, gentlemen," Athos said lowly, "Where is he?" 

"We-we didn't know who he was! We thought that he was just some vagrant!" the second stuttered. 

"Doesn't matter who he is, it's your duty to help people!" Porthos growled. 

"Fine!" the first barked, "After he asked us, we pushed 'im down and told 'im to be on his way. He got up and headed north." Porthos snarled and dropped them both in a heap. 

"Thank you for your honesty gentlemen, rest assured we will inform our Captain of your  _helpfulness_ ," Athos stated. He and Porthos headed north and looked at one another. It was beginning to get late and cold as well. Athos pulled his doublet a little higher, and Porthos rubbed his arms a little to warm them. 

"If 'e was smart, which 'e is, he would of gotten to the city limits, walked along 'em 'till he found a road leadin' in that recognized, and walked himself home," Porthos said. Athos hummed noncommittally, it was good reasoning, but Aramis was exhausted and lost, and Athos worried he wouldn't make it that far. Porthos stilled beside him, and he clasped Athos' arm with an deep breath. He looked over to see what stilled his friend so, only to find a very familiar hat lying in the mud. Athos bent over and picked it up reverently. It was by the stoop of one house, and Porthos began to pound on the door. It was opened up by a very irritated man, and Athos immediately stepped into the light. 

"Forgive the intrusion Monsieur, but one of our fellow Musketeers has gone missing, and it seems that he may have come to your stoop. Do you know where the man wearing this hat went?" Athos asked. The man swallowed heavily, and sweat beaded on his brow. 

"N-No, ain't seen anyone like that," he stammered. Athos stood up straighter and Porthos cracked his knuckles menacingly. 

"Monsieur, this is the hat of our friend. Now, we must have the truth, be rest assured that nothing shall come of you speaking it," Athos said coolly. The man looked at them both. 

"I-I swear, I thought he was just some vagrant!" the man panicked. 

"What did ya do then?" Porthos asked, "What'd ya do to our lost friend, who was probably just lookin' to rest, as he's been  _sick_?" Athos gripped a board that was by the door and held up a little scrap of cloth, a piece of Aramis' jacket. 

"You beat him?" Athos asked hollowly, "For sitting on your stoop for a rest?" 

"I didn't  _beat_ him, one good whack on the arm was all it took to send him runnin'!" the man defended, "Those scum have been gettin' more and more frequent, if I let 'em sit, next thing I know I'll have 'em in my house!" The man ceased his rambling when he saw the look in Athos' eyes. White fury clouded his mind, and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. He advanced slowly, only to be stopped by Porthos' hand on his arm, though the big man looked as furious and horrified as he did. 

"You will tell us which way he fled after your  _attack_ , and we shall leave you to the defense of your stoop. Rest assured Monsieur, assaulting an unarmed man with a weapon of any form is illegal and a punishable crime. Be glad that my friend was not wearing his pauldron, as an attack on the king's men is a hanging crime. Good evening Monsieur," Athos said quietly. Athos turned on his heel and followed the shaking man's finger, and he heard Porthos follow him. They followed the unsteady footprints of their frightened lover for hours. It seemed that he had doubled back many times, and at times his footprints were almost lost on the flagstones. The dawn was just beginning to come up on the horizon when they found themselves at an alley, after numerous wrong turnings. Athos stepped into it, found the imprint of Aramis' boots in the mud, along with many others. A choked whimper from Porthos had Athos turning round in a flash. The man was holding up an abused and dirtied length of cloth, blue cloth, a sash. Tears flooded Athos' eyes, and he gave out an involuntary sob. Porthos knelt down and fingered the dirt, lifting it up with trembling fingers. 

"Blood," he whispered, "Oh kitten, poor kitten." Panic, raw and bubbling, flooded Athos' chest, and bile rose up in his throat. "Athos, where is he, where is he?" he asked quietly. Athos got up and threw his arms around Porthos, and the big man sniffled. 

"We will find him, I promise you," he whispered. 

"We find the dead all the time," Porthos replied hollowly, and Athos dry heaved, almost unable to contain the bile that rose up at the thought. Pale Aramis, dead Aramis, Aramis that laughed no longer. They couldn't put him in the ground, he hated the dark, though he would never admit to what he saw as a failing. No, this wasn't proof, he wasn't, couldn't be, dead. 

"He is not dead, merely frightened and lost. Now, let us see what tracks lead out," Athos stated. There were two sets that led out. One was a group of three, which headed in the wrong direction. Athos guessed that these were the bastards who had assaulted (the blood and sash were enough proof of that, unless the bastard with the stoop had done more damage than he'd admitted) their kitten. The second set of tracks were harder to follow, much harder. They weaved across other sets, and they were led down many trails. Finally, the two exhausted and panicking men were led to a modest home, though it was well-kept. Athos pounded on the door, hoping against hope that maybe Aramis had been shown some kindness. A woman with fiery-red curls opened the door, a frown on her prim lips. 

"Good morning Madame, we were wondering if you had a moment of time for some questions?" Porthos asked, and Athos was stunned by how exhausted and defeated he sounded. Her eyes grew hard. 

"No, you may not come in. I have a sick man in the house, and you've probably woken him your racket," she said sternly, and Porthos winced. With that, she gave them a "good day" and turned to shut the door. They didn't know if this was the house, it could be another false trail, but Athos was desperate. In a fit of rudeness, he shoved his boot between the door and the frame. 

"We are looking for our friend, we just wanna know if you've seen him," Porthos begged. Her gaze soften a little, but her tone was still forceful.

"I haven't seen your friend. Good day gentlemen, and I wish you luck in your search," she said. Porthos began to turn away, but Athos was desperate, he couldn't give up, wouldn't. 

"Please Madame," he pleaded, "We just need to know if you've seen him. We've been searching for most of yesterday and all through the night, and we have not found him. He is about my height and weight, with dark hair and eyes. He would have been wearing a tan coat with a blue sash." Her eyes widened, and his heart sang, finally a clue! Porthos had turned towards them once more and was scanning the room inside, and Athos kicked himself for not doing it in the first place. If Aramis was being held against his will...bile rose in throat at the implications, and all the other houses they had visited now seemed treacherous. The woman had apparently caught on to Porthos and kicked at Athos' boot. 

"I have not seen him, good day Monsieurs," she stated. Just then, Porthos gave a strangled choke and Athos' head snapped up. 

"Athos look, 'is boots, over there by the fire!" Porthos bellowed, and the woman went pale. Fuck manners, it was obvious Aramis was here, and the woman had already told them twice that he wasn't. A thousand horrible scenarios raced through Athos' mind and he felt sick. Manners forgotten, he nodded at Porthos, who grasped the door edge and  _heaved_. The woman was thrown back, and Porthos raced in. Aramis' boots, shirt, and trousers were all lying near the fire. The woman yelled and attacked Porthos, and Athos caught her in his arms. She flailed, but he held her tightly. 

"Unhand me!" she cried. 

"Madame, I highly recommend you tell us where he is," Athos said in a cold (but also somewhat relieved) voice. They'd found Aramis (sort of). Porthos threw open the doors in the kitchen and found nothing. 

"Aramis, Aramis where are ya?" Porthos cried, "Aramis answer me please!" The woman cried out again and flailed, but Athos held her in his arms. Athos and Porthos both heard the small and pitiful mewl that drifted off from a room in the hall. Athos smiled and Porthos gave an enormous grin as he raced down the hall. The woman increased her struggles and kicked his shin. He released her, she was almost out of the kitchen before caught her once more. 

Porthos burst into each of rooms, having to go through three before finding Aramis. The man was curled up in a small ball, with only his eyes and nose visible from his cocoon of blankets. Porthos gave a relieved sigh and Aramis blinked sluggishly at him. His eyes were only half-open, and the lack of response from his kitten told Porthos something was wrong. Porthos strode slowly across the room and lifted the man carefully in his arms. There was a groan, and Porthos pulled him flush against his chest. Hands were fisted into his doublet, the grip so hard that the knuckles were white. The man still had his eyes closed. 

"Shh kitten, I have ya, let's go see Athos," Porthos murmured, his mind running through the list of surgeons that were near. What had the woman done to him? He could already see bruises on Aramis' face, and judging from his wince, there were more under his shirt. Porthos walked him back to the kitchen, where the woman was still struggling, now stomping her foot on Athos' boot and kicking him in the leg. 

"And I'll tell you that you will not take him! He's ill and exhausted, and I don't even know who you are!" she cried sternly, "And if you think that I'm going to let you walk out the door with someone I've taken into my home, you are sadly mistaken Monsieur!"

"Is he hurt?" Athos asked, ignoring her protests.

"Don't know, he hasn't talked to me yet," Porthos said anxiously. Athos released the woman (who started to run for a knife on the table, but was stopped with a look from Athos and a hand on his pistol) and walked over to Aramis. With a smile a sigh of relief, Athos pushed his wild hair back and felt his forehead, grinning as sluggish eyes blinked up at him. 

"Aramis, are you hurt? You need to speak to us," Athos said gently, waving a shaking hand in front of Aramis' eyes to see if he could get a response. The only thing Aramis did was close his eyes with a pitiful squeak. The woman chose then to step up and intervene. 

"I found him in an alley last night, he was hurt and terrified, and he was soaked to the bone, so I took him here. He only told me to take him to the Musketeer garrison, and I wasn't sure if I could haul him there myself, so I took him here. I gave him a tea for the pain and sleep, and he was very tired in the first place, so I think he's just a little confused. The tea would take longer to wear off, and you two woke him, what with that infernal pounding," the lady sighed. Athos' heart sank when he thought of his treatment of her, and Porthos had a sudden interest in the floor. 

"Aramis, if this is true, just nod your head," Athos instructed softly, knowing that he wouldn't get anything more coherent. With a wince, the man nodded and Porthos ran a rewarding hand through his hair. 

"He can't keep his eyes open 'Thos, he's obviously done in," Porthos whispered, "Go on and sleep kitten, we'll keep ya safe." With a contented sigh, Aramis nuzzled into Porthos' chest, and soon the room was filled with soft breaths. Porthos pressed a kiss to a bruised temple and resettled him in his arms. 

"With your permission Madame, we will put him in bed...and offer our apologies for our treatment of you," Athos said quietly. The lady looked at him warily, but gestured towards the room Aramis had been in. Toeing off his boots, Porthos gently climbed up in the bed, Aramis in his arms, crooning when he gave a whimper at the shifting. The lady pulled a blanket from the bed and wrapped it around Aramis with Porthos' help. "I apologize Madame for our horrible treatment of you. It was unfounded and unnecessary, and not fit for the King's Musketeers," Athos whispered. 

"Aye, no call to go breakin' into your home when you were just caring for a guest," Porthos rumbled. 

"Thank you for caring for him, he had a...difficult night," Athos whispered. 

"Robbery is known to be somewhat difficult on the person robbed," the lady said with a smile, "And I do not blame you for jumping to conclusions, I was a stranger who lied about your friend's presence in her house. To be frank, I wasn't sure if you were true Musketeers, or his robbers come to finish the job. I am Madame Constance Bonacieux, though you may call me Constance."

"I am Athos of the King's Musketeers, he is Porthos, and I believe you know Aramis," Athos replied. Silence reigned for a long while, no one wanting to disturb the small form curled up in Porthos' large arms. Aramis snuffled and shifted in Porthos' arms, causing him to groan, to which Porthos shushed him and rocked him a little in his arms. He gave a small, squeaking cough and Porthos rubbed his back, trying to dislodge the fluid in his throat without waking him. 

"He was in the rain a good spell last night, I shouldn't wonder if he caught something," Constance whispered. She looked a little disheveled, and Athos' guilt settled at the bottom of his stomach. Aramis gave a small sniff, and Porthos ran a hand absently through his hair. 

"I must apologize again Madame for our treatment of you," Athos whispered.

"It is Constance, and think nothing of it. If it had been my love gone missing, I would broken down every door in Paris," she whispered. Athos spluttered and Porthos gave her a large grin. "If the raw panic wasn't enough, then the fact that your friend here refuses to release him even when lying in a bed, and the fact that you have not been more than an arm's distance away, says plenty," she chuckled. 

"Love or not, we should not have acted so hastily, it is just that..." Athos said heavily.

"We found his sash, not three hours ago. Found it in some alley ripped and dirty, with blood lying near it. We knew he never would'a parted with that sash, not without a fight," Porthos whispered. Aramis shifted in Porthos' arms, and the arms tightened round him. "You awake kitten?" came the whispered question.

"Hmm," was the response from said kitten.

"Aramis, what happened, where did you go?" Athos asked quietly, "And where is your coat?" Athos saw Aramis flinch in Porthos' arms, and the big man rubbed a hand up and down his back. Porthos pressed a kiss to his temple and looked to Athos with fury in his eyes. 

"'S all good kitten, you're safe, we just need to know whose heads to knock together," Porthos soothed. Sluggish eyes blinked between Porthos and Athos, and then back down to his clasped hands, no longer grasping Porthos' doublet. A tear slipped down his cheek and he looked down, not even glancing at Athos or Porthos. It was like a child who had been caught in a misdeed and now was imagining his punishment. His words still slurred by tea and exhaustion, Aramis began his confusing narrative, which Athos listened to with steadily mounting fury. 

""Was cleanin' and slipped, ruined Porthos' bandanna. Went to go and find 'im another one, but got lost. Asked the Red Guards for directions and got pushed down, laughed at me. I walked until legs hurt and sat down, just to rest! Man got angry and hit my arm, and I ran. I found the alley, and these men found me. They kicked me all over, and they took my coat and my money for the bandanna. Left me alone after they got what they wanted, and Constance found me," Aramis whispered, "Sorry Athos, sorry P'thos." If they hadn't had the details due to the previous night's inquiries, Athos was sure he would never have understood the sobbed-out story. Aramis had been beaten, kicked, terrified, and had his distress laughed at because his coat was somewhat big and his hair was a little messy. Athos wanted to kill people. A look at the others in the room saw that Constance's eyes were hard, and she clutched the blankets in her anger. Athos internally winced when he saw that Porthos was shaking in his protective rage. It would probably be best if the Captain had others serve justice at this point. Aramis had his head down, his hands clasped meekly, and Athos' heart ached. It was obvious what the man was distressed over, even though Porthos was not angry at all about the stupid bandanna. Tears ran down Porthos' cheeks, a sign of the pain his heart felt because of Aramis' sufferings. A choked-back sob escaped from Aramis' throat, and then another. He looked into Porthos' eyes and cowered back down, his position even more meek and resigned, panic in his eyes. "So sorry, so sorry, I'll fix it," he sobbed, "I know it was special, didn't mean to!" 

"I ain't mad about the damn bandanna!" Porthos bit out, and Aramis flinched. He was now as close to Porthos' chest he could get, his face hidden in his shirt. He shook in what Athos was horrified to see was terror, and his clasped hands were twitching in distress, wanting to grasp Porthos' doublet as he usually did, but believing it not to be allowed. His breaths were coming in stuttering little gasps against Porthos' doublet, and his chest heaved in his panic. Athos wouldn't let this go on, refused to do it, couldn't let this go on. He drew himself up and looked into Porthos' eyes with a harsh glare. 

"Porthos," he said sternly, "You're scaring him." Porthos was still looking at Athos in shock as two panic-blown eyes peeked up, only to immediately disappear once more into Porthos' chest. Why wasn't Porthos doing anything?! Athos was about to stop this, to take Aramis from Porthos' arms and into his own, when he blew out his breath in a gust, visibly trying to calm himself. He looked down at Aramis, who began to descend into true hysterics, sobs being wrenched from him with wide eyes. Athos watched as Aramis ceased to breath, and his trembling increased to full-blown shudders that rocked his body. Porthos looked down at Aramis, his kitten, in horror. 

"Love, p-please calm down, I'm not mad at you, I promise! Accidents happen, there's no reason I should be mad! Oh love, I could never get mad at you for that! Please, please don't be afraid," Porthos whispered, "I was angry at the men who'd hurt ya, turned a blind eye or pushed ya away when you needed help." Two gentle hands found themselves on Aramis' back, and the man flinched with a pitiful, squeaky whimper. His shudders lessened to shakes, and he slowly emerged from Porthos' doublet. Athos breathed a sigh of relief, and he swore he could have heard one from Constance. 

"All is well Aramis, we were never angry," Athos whispered, "There was no reason for it." He hoped that would calm him a little, as Athos hadn't said anything on the matter since the explanation began. Aramis sniffled and looked up into Porthos' eyes, found only reassurance, and the big man gave him a grin and slight nod. 

"My sash," he slurred, and Athos' heart clenched when thought of the piece of fabric. 

"Was destroyed by actions not your own. That sash was only a length of cloth, a representation of our bond, not nearly so important as the love I feel for you," Athos whispered. Aramis' breath hitched, and Porthos rubbed his back.

"He's right, we're not gonna not love each other just because the damn bandanna's gone. I love you kitten, and that'll never change," Porthos whispered. Athos crawled forward on the bed until he was right in front of the duo, Porthos rocking the kitten gently, murmuring reassurances, while Aramis tried to calm his gasping breaths. Athos settled in front of them, put one arm around Porthos and ran the other through Aramis' hair. The man gave a sigh and went limp. With his thumb, Athos brushed away the tears as Aramis' head lay back limply against Porthos' arm. 

"Shh now, no more tears. We are here, here always," Athos whispered. Aramis gave a hiccuping cough and closed his eyes. "Rest now, we'll be here when you wake," Athos whispered. Tired eyes shuttered closed once more, and he burrowed deeper into Porthos with a sigh. He wriggled in Porthos' arms, trying to find a position that did not put strain on his ribs. 

"You'll probably want to be leaving soon, I'll mix him some more tea, he should have it again soon," she said quietly. Athos nodded and Porthos thanked her quietly. Aramis' clogged nose caused him to snuffle occasionally, and his eyes flew open. Porthos rocked him steadily in his arms, he  looked down at the drowsy man and pressed a kiss to his forehead. 

"I love you kitten, and I am so, so sorry that I scared you. You will never,  _never_ have anything to fear from me," Porthos whispered heavily. A small smile graced the man's lips and he put a hand on Porthos' cheek. 

"Love you," he slurred. And with that, he slept peacefully. Porthos looked down at him with a gentle smile, and beamed over at Athos.

"I don't deserve you two," he whispered. 

"You do, you deserve us, and Aramis is the same," Athos said forcefully and with Porthos' weighted look he added, "And I...I deserve much (here Porthos shot him a glare), all that you are." 

"So, who's gonna tell the Captain where we found our kitten?" Porthos asked. That sentence hit Athos like a bucket of cold water, and he knew that someone had to go to the garrison. However, his eyes felt oh so heavy, and his legs like jelly. A hand on his shoulder jolted him, and he looked into Porthos' amused eyes. 

"It seems like I've been stealin' our kitten, so why don't I leg it over to the Captain, and you stay here with him?" he asked. 

"You should not have to, your leg is injured," Athos said, only to finish the sentence with a yawn. He heard Aramis give a whimper, and suddenly his legs were swung over the bed, and his boots hit the floor. He protested sleepily, but soon his doublet was on the floor as well. His trousers and stockings followed as well, despite exhausted and incoherent protests. He was picked up, much like a child, and tucked under the covers. Porthos left him with a command to "just lie down you stubborn ass" and soon a warm weight was nestled against his side. Athos looked down in sleepy shock to Aramis burrow into his warmth. Two arms snaked around his torso and a forehead was rubbed against his shoulder. Athos' hands went automatically around Aramis to be placed protectively under his chest and the other to absentmindedly thread through his hair. Athos went limp, and he dozed off to sleep feeling one hand move up and down on a breathing chest (an amazing movement, that) and the other moving effortlessly through silky strands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that turned out much longer than I'd planned! Thank you for reading!


	6. Interlude #4: Six Feet Under

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are given a dangerous mission, the results of which are disastrous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys, hi! Explanation time! For all of you guys who got the email about a new chapter, only to find nothing, I apologize! I wrote a very long chapter with pretty heavy Athos angst for this, and wasn't really sure about the pacing and such. However, I was very on the fence about it, so I posted to see what people thought. It was up for a couple hours, and I checked to see how it was doing. One person unsubscribed, and I was pretty rocky about my thoughts on it in the first place, so the chapter was taken down and I started fresh. This chapter is dedicated to Debbie F, who requested that d'Artagnan gets kidnapped and everyone goes tearing after him. And so, here we are! Warning, this chapter has some pretty scary shit (someone gets buried alive and the boys get beat up pretty bad), so for those of you who don't do well with gore, turn back now! Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!

Treville looked at the eight men assembled in the courtyard and sighed. He didn't like this, he didn't like this at all. The Cardinal had given him many assurances, it was nothing, just a precaution, there was no risk, no one's going to come after it...on and on the list went. But Treville was no fool, and he knew that any mission that required a decoy team was above the normal risk. The Cardinal had been very secretive as to why  _his_ men were risking their lives, but one word from the king had forced Treville to shut his mouth. He knew that this was big if the king was purposefully keeping him out of the know. He braced himself on the balcony and looked down at the men. "Men, you are tasked with traveling on separate routes to Rouen near the mountains. There, your leaders will each be given a letter, which you will not open  _under any circumstances_. One team shall receive the actual missive, while the other shall receive a blank form. I repeat, under no circumstances are you to inquire as to which you have. Travel back to Paris with all speed and deliver your letters to the king's messengers, who will be waiting at the gate with the appropriate seals. Am I understood?" Treville boomed. A resounding "aye" echoed throughout the garrison, and with that, the teams were off. The journey would take four days. If either team did not return at midday on the fourth, he would ride out in force. The teams galloped through the streets of Paris, and Treville prayed that all eight men would soon be laughing and drinking in the garrison soon. He sent up a small prayer for one group in particular, one which contained a head of wild brown hair atop lanky shoulders. 

"Are you sure he is well?" Athos asked hours later. It was late November, and the snows were on the ground. The wind's icy fingers found their way through any garment, and little flakes were coming down in swirls. "Porthos?" Athos asked. They had made camp in a clearing not far off the road, and had immediately bundled together, propriety be damned. d'Artagnan, blushing red at the thought of sleeping with them, had inched closer to the fire and had shielded himself in his bedroll. Athos was worried. Porthos had pulled both himself and Aramis on top of his large frame and held them close, pulling all the blankets they had on top of them. Only Aramis' warm brown eyes and red nose were visible, the same being with Athos, and Porthos carded his gloved hands through their hair. Aramis had finally been lulled to a resting almost-sleep, though his concern over his friend and lovers freezing had kept him moving until Porthos had forcibly pulled him in to their huddle. However, Athos' questions caused him to stir, and Porthos groaned. Neither he nor Aramis could see the boy, so Athos relied on Porthos for his mothering. 

"He's fine, just like five minutes ago!" Porthos groaned. 

"Stop m-mothering, I'm f-fine," d'Artagnan shivered. At that, Aramis sat up fully and Porthos looked over at him, concerned. 

"You cold boy?" Porthos asked. Silence met him. 

"d'Artagnan, come and sleep with us, there is no shame in it," Aramis said with slight reprimand as a sneaking Porthos latched onto him and pulled him back down. 

"Be still,"Athos commanded as he wriggled, "You are letting in all the cold air." With a dramatic huff, Aramis stopped moving and went to mumbling. A dark blur snuck out of d'Artagnan's blankets and dashed as quickly as he could over to them. He burrowed in between Porthos and Athos, and Porthos gave a grunt as cautious brown eyes peeped from under the blanket. 

"Lord whelp, you're freezin'!" Porthos cried. 

"Sorry," came the muffled reply from the depths of the blankets. Laughing, Porthos ruffled his hair and went back to petting Athos into sleep and Aramis into some form of stillness. Soon, the air was only filled with deep breathing as the four curled in together, their troubles for the moment forgotten. The two day trip to Rouen passed uneventfully, full of stories, laughter, and plans for the holidays that were soon to come. When they arrived at a well-kept inn at Rouen, Athos was approached by a slight middle-aged man. The man was obviously nervous, and Athos had to wonder what in God's name the Cardinal had them receiving. After the proper passwords and identification, the letter was pressed into his hands, and Athos secured it in his doublet. 

"Get a good night's sleep, we leave in the morning," Athos commanded. Porthos nodded and they all trooped up the stairs and into their rooms. There would be no stories tonight, no huddle or banter, they had the letter now, and everything was at stake. That night, he slept very little as he lay curled up in his own bed. Only after Porthos sighed and walked across the room, getting into his bed with a creak, did he calm his worries. 

"Eh now, there ain't nothin' to worry about. Treville wouldn't risk us for nothin', and he certainly wouldn't send us on a suicide mission. Take your own advice and get some sleep, as long as we move fast and quiet we'll be fine," Porthos whispered. With Porthos' words resounding in his head, Athos closed his eyes and slept peacefully, didn't stir until Porthos shook him at dawn. They set off and had lunch from the backs of their horses. They were about half a day's ride to Paris, making astounding time, when they were attacked. A fire crashed into Athos' chest, and he clutched at it frantically. Blood spurted from his chest, and his breath left his body in a rush. The world tilted, and with a groan he crashed off his horse. He heard Aramis screaming his name, and then the world when dark. 

This was bad, so very very bad. Aramis was screaming at an unconscious Athos like a man deranged, and Porthos was ripping at their opponents left and right from his horse. A howling cry from Aramis was all the confirmation he needed as to the fate of their leader. A dark blur screamed past him, and Aramis tackled the lead bandit, not even drawing his sword. He heard a shot and a horse scream, and he saw Porthos go down. There was a sickening crunch and Porthos lay still. There was no hope, there were at least twenty bandits, armed to the teeth and mounted. What the hell did they have?! Aramis was still pummeling the lead man hysterically, but was grabbed by the arms and forced to kneel. d'Artagnan cried his name, but there were five men advancing on him, along with the one he was fighting. A gunshot echoed loudly through the trees, and the Spaniard fell, blood pooling from his head. d'Artagnan gave a scream, and his opponent took the opportunity to disarm him and get him on the ground. Cold steel lay against his chest and the Gascon looked into his eyes coldly. 

"Go on then, finish it," he growled, and he was surprised at how steady he sounded. 

"No!" a voice cried, "Search the bodies and find the letter! Leave this one alive!" The accent was strange, and then d'Artagnan realized who they were with a jolt. Spanish, these men were Spanish. What had the Cardinal sent them to get?! d'Artagnan growled as the bodies of his three beloved friends were stripped of everything but their underclothes. Their doublets, shirts, and trousers were shredded in an effort to locate any secret compartments that the letter might be in. They took d'Artagnan's clothing as well, but he barely even registered it in his grief. Finally, a man held up the letter with a cry of truimph. d'Artagnan was sick to see one of the corners saturated with Athos' blood. The blood of his friend. The leader, or what he presumed to be the leader, took the letter and opened it. His face went white, and he dropped it with shaking fingers. d'Artagnan was hoisted up by his hair, and he gave a held-back grunt of pain. 

"Where is it?" the leader demanded, shaking him by his hair. 

"You have it," d'Artagnan grunted. 

"This letter is blank!" the leader yelled. Oh thank God, oh thank you God. Cornet and his team had the missive, and d'Artagnan was glad that they had at least not failed. He would not have to meet his friends in heaven only to tell them of his failure. 

"What letter?" d'Artagnan asked. A slap to the face was his only answer, and then the man looked in his eyes with hard determination. 

"We will continue this conversation elsewhere," the leader hissed, and d'Artagnan was too numb with grief to be afraid. He looked blankly at the man, and watched as he gave some orders in Spanish. The hand in his hair twisted and forced him to turn his head, and he looked at the men. They scooped the up the bodies of his friends, and d'Artagnan knew that this would be the last he saw of three men that had almost made the greatest impact on his life, surpassed only by three. He fought the urge to sob when he thought of Jean, when he thought of him riding to Gascony to deliver the news of his death to his mother and father. They scooped up Athos first, and the leader dragged him along by his hair as they marched into the woods at the side of the road. Anger seared a path in d'Artagnan's heart as they tossed Athos into a hole they found, in his undergarments and splayed out. His hair shuffled in the wind, and d'Artagnan was distinctly reminded of a night in the tavern a week ago, when they'd had a celebration because Athos' hair had finally reached his ears. Aramis was quite proud of it, as he remembered. Porthos came next, his new bandanna still attached to his head. Aramis had smiled so when he'd presented it to him at breakfast one morning. He was tossed in and landed next to Athos. Aramis was last, the smiling man who had taught d'Artagnan so much about Paris itself. He was tossed in and landed atop his two lovers. Even in death they were together, as inseparable as they were in life. d'Artagnan mouthed a prayer for them as the man forced him to look at the dead bodies of his friends. Crows circled them, and he knew that soon his friends would be in their bellies. Tears wanted to burst forth, but d'Artagnan would not, could not, cry in front of the enemy. The words were out of his mouth before he even knew they had formed. 

"I'll kill you for this," he said in a whisper as he looked at Athos and Aramis' hair, entangled together and waving in the wind. The leader laughed and twisted his hair a little. The man started to drag him away, but d'Artagnan finally found the strength to fight. He kicked and punched, screaming obscenities in French, Gascon, and what little garbled Spanish he'd learned from Aramis. He screamed as he was hoisted into the air by his hair. 

"Be still and quiet!" the leader hissed, giving him a shake. He was thrown onto the ground and seized by two of the men. "Tie him to one of the horses, we must go!" he commanded. His hands were lashed together in front of him, and his ankles were tied just as tightly. A blindfold was tied tightly across his eyes and he was lifted into the air. He was thrown belly-down across one of the horses and tied down roughly like a sack of grain. They were off, and d'Artagnan hoped that maybe some traveler would find his friends, give them a proper burial instead of leaving them to the crows. d'Artagnan didn't know for how long they rode, the journey was a blur of numbness and painful memories that he was both grateful and hateful for. They finally stopped, and he was cut down. He was dragged off and made to stand up, his arms were tied to something that was above him. It was still freezing, and the wind was blowing, so he knew that they were still outside. A hand grasped his chin, and he spat in front of him. A punch to the jaw let him know that he'd found his mark. "You will tell us where the letter is," the voice of the leader growled. And then it began. The worst part was he could not see it coming, the kicks, the punches, the cuts, the hits from a branch, and later the burning knife. He wished for the cold now, pleaded for it, yearned for it. He screamed until he was hoarse, but he said nothing. He screamed for his friends, for God, to help him, but the only answers were laughter. He told them nothing. When he heard a rider coming in, he sagged with relief. 

"Captain, their tracks, they lead to Rouen!" the rider yelled. 

"We go there, perhaps some time in the box will make our friend more talkative," the leader growled, "Dig the hole!" d'Artagnan's heart fluttered, and he prayed that he could stand this new torture. He heard a shovel working, and it felt like hours before he was cut down and dragged roughly through the snow. Finally, he was seized by his ankles and shoulders and thrown into a box. It was not long enough for him to move up and down, and his shoulders barely squeezed in. His body screamed, and he howled as he hit the wood. Before he could get up, a lid was forced above him, just brushing his nose, and he heard nails being driven in. The box was lifted up and dropped, and he screamed. Then, he heard it. Something was hitting the box, and he almost vomited when he realized it was dirt. They were burying him alive. This time, he was not ashamed to scream. Muffled jeers and laughter drifted in from above, and his pounded the box with his tied hands and ankles. He screamed for help, for anyone to come, but the only thing that came was more dirt. There was silence, only broken by his frantic breathing. He had to get out. He had to get out! Panic flooded him and he sobbed, sobbed for his friends, for his lover, for himself. He wondered if he would die here, choking for air or possibly by thirst. He scratched at the box with his fingernails until he felt that they were covered with blood. He didn't stop screaming. 

Athos' first thought when he woke was to scold Aramis for kicking the blankets off again. He was cold, damn it! His chest was strangely wet, and he lifted up his arm to peel off the sweaty (or drooly) shirt. His arm was restrained and he grunted in frustration. 

"Aramis darling, I need you to move, you've drooled on my shirt again," he said. Hair was on his cheek, and something was lying on his arm. With a groan, he opened his eyes. His chest felt like it was on fire, and there was a great weight on his chest. He gave a choked off scream with he beheld a cold Aramis on his chest, crows on his legs, trees round him, and Porthos on his right. Neither man was moving. He couldn't tell if they were breathing.  "Kitten, my love, Aramis, wake up," he whispered, "Porthos my love, wake up." He yelled and twitched his heavy legs, and the crows flew off. Aramis' head was covered with blood, and he leaned up to kiss Aramis, see if he was warm. His lips were blue and ice cold. He sobbed. Just then, a deep rumble sounded from his right, and Porthos twitched. 

"'Mis, no kickin' the blankets," he grumbled and batted in the air with his hand. 

"Porthos," Athos gasped, "Porthos darling, wake up, open your eyes." Porthos groaned and his eyes flickered open. He gave a gasp and lifted up his head with a groan. "Where are we?" he asked. 

"I don't know, are you hurt?" Athos asked. 

"I think m' leg's broken, my arm's all twisted, an' my ribs are shiftin'," Porthos groaned, "You?"

"My chest, it's wet and it hurts," Athos whispered. They were in trouble, and they knew it. 

"Aramis, Aramis, kitten?" Porthos called. 

"I can't wake him, I need help moving him," Athos said. Porthos crawled over and helped Athos roll Aramis on the ground carefully. 

"Athos, 'is head," Porthos whispered. 

"I know, I think he was grazed," Athos whispered. They were only in their underclothes, and Athos started to rub feeling into Aramis' hands and feet, as his body had given Athos some warmth. 

"Athos, your chest," Porthos breathed. Athos looked down and saw that his chest was covered in blood. They ripped it open and found a gunshot wound. 

"The cold, it must be stoppin' the blood," Porthos breathed. 

"Thank God for small miracles then," Athos sighed, "We need to leave." They staggered out of a hole and found themselves in the forest. Tracks led them out and they were shocked when they came to the road. There was blood in the snow, and their slashed clothes were strewn everywhere. 

"That's the pup's doublet and trousers. Where is he Athos?" Porthos breathed. 

"Oh my God, the mission!" Athos breathed. The mission, the letter, the shot. 

"Oh no," Porthos whispered. 

"We have to find him," Athos said. A small mewl interrupted their thoughts, and Athos and Porthos gently laid Aramis on the ground. 

"Kitten? C'mon kitten, time to get up," Porthos encouraged him. Aramis' face scrunched up and twisted into a wince, and Athos fought the urge to smile. 

"Blankets?" Aramis groaned. He blinked open his eyes and gasped. 

"There's no time, we have to go after d'Artagnan," Athos said forcefully. They washed Aramis' cut with snow and tied Porthos' bandanna around his head. They wrapped strips of cloth around Athos' chest, though they were all nervous about leaving the ball in. Porthos' ribs were wrapped, his arms was in a sling, and a stick was tied round his leg. Athos prayed that perhaps someone would find them. Their supplies were useless, they'd been scattered all over the road in a search for the letter, presumably. Their horses were nowhere to be found, and it was already midday. 

"Treville will be after us in a day," Aramis sighed. 

"Thank God for that," Porthos whispered. 

"We keep moving, we must stay warm," Athos said. With Porthos in the middle, the three linked their arms and set off, one foot in front of the other and following the tracks. By the time night fell, Athos' teeth were clacking together and his fingers were blue. Luckily, the cold kept his wound from bleeding profusely. Aramis was fainting at intervals, and Porthos was bent over almost double. When they collapsed in a trembling heap on the road, Athos prayed that someone might possibly find them, for otherwise, they were doomed. They woke at midday the next day, and Athos cursed himself. It was almost impossible to rouse Aramis and Porthos, and he growled when he saw that they were all blue and shivering like mad. 

"W-we have to keep moving, n-never should have sle-slept," Aramis shivered. 

"You're in the m-middle today, no f-faintin' on us," Porthos said. Aramis nodded and they staggered on. 

In Paris, Captain Jean Treville looked at the assembled men. Cornet and his team had delivered the actual missive to the messengers, and they were ready to set off after his love and the Inseparables. They would find them, come hell or high water. Cornet knew they had gotten to Rouen, so it was a day's journey if they rode very hard, which they would. Treville only hoped they weren't too badly wounded, they had limited medical supplies as they had to travel lightly. 

"Serge!" he barked, "We'll reach the garrison late tomorrow, have the physician here and ready to treat wounded!" The man nodded, and Treville clenched his fist. He and the Cardinal would be having words once this was done. With a yell, he thundered out of the garrison, an exhausted (but insistent) Cornet at his side. They finally reached a highroad and looked upon a scene of carnage. The evening light shined down on shredded clothing and scattered items. "My God!" Treville breathed. 

"d'Artagnan, Athos, Porthos, Aramis!" Cornet thundered. Henri looked up from where he was kneeling at the edge of the camp, and cried out. 

"Captain!" he cried, "There's tracks leading into and out of the wood, and hoofprints goin' up the road!"

"We search the woods first, then we follow the horses!" Treville bellowed, "Find you brothers, now!" They crashed into the wood and came upon a hole. Treville swallowed heavily and looked down. There was blood in the hole, but no bodies. 

"Looks like they climbed out, there's three sets here Captain. Looks like they were wounded," Cornet murmured. 

"Athos, Porthos, and Aramis?" he asked. 

"Yeah, looks like," Cornet answered. 

"And the boy?" Treville asked, and Cornet gave him a sympathetic look. 

"I don't know, but you know they wouldn't leave him behind, not on purpose," Cornet answered. 

"He may have been taken by whoever did this. It's enough to know they're alive, but I don't know how long they'll last disrobed and wounded," Treville murmured. They followed the horse tracks, but were soon forced to make camp with their fifteen brothers. 

"Look there Porthos, a cave!" Athos cried, and Porthos murmured thanks to God. Aramis had fainted hours ago, and any attempts rouse him were futile. They stumbled into the cave and rested, but did not sleep, it was too cold for that. They covered themselves with pine boughs they found on the floor and tried to rouse Aramis frequently. Finally, when dawn was just beginning to peak over the horizon, he stirred. 

"Kitten? Kitten, oh thank God," Porthos whispered as he took Aramis into his arms. 

"I take a nap?" he asked as Porthos clung to him tightly. 

"Yes, you were rather stubborn about it as well," Athos said with a small smile, which Aramis returned. They set off once more, and they could tell the tracks were newer. They were shivering harder than ever, not even able to speak, and Athos knew that soon they would not be able to go on. When they came to a field, they all but collapsed. They were obviously in the midst of a camp, but there were no people to be found. 

"d'Artagnan?" Porthos called weakly. They followed the tracks and saw that someone had been dragged to the middle of the field. 

"They were l-lifted up and c-c-carried over..." Athos mused, and then the words stopped in his throat. There was a mound of freshly dug dirt. 

"N-No, they w-w-wouldn't!" Aramis cried. 

"S-S-Start digging, we-we'r-we're coming boy!" Athos commanded. They dug with their bare hands, flinging dirt off to the side, and they did not stop, could not stop. They began to flag, and Athos knew that they had little time. It was midday by the time they unearthed the box. It was barely big enough for the boy, and Athos fairly dove into the hole. He lifted it up as carefully as he could with shaking hands, and Aramis and Porthos grabbed it. It seemed to take forever to rip off the lid, but when they did, they saw they were right. Blindfolded and tied, d'Artagnan was lying still and pale in the bottom. With a cry, Athos scooped him up in his arms and heaved him out. There was a weak, hoarse cry from the boy and a small flail, but he had lost the energy to fight. Athos ripped off the blindfold, and d'Artagnan gave a small mewl when his eyes were exposed to the light. "Shh, shh, we're here, we h-have you," Athos breathed as he encircled the boy with his arms. He placed a delicate kiss on his brow, and Aramis began to untie the bindings with numb fingers. With a cry of frustration, he dropped his hands and rubbed them together. Athos heard the thundering of hooves, and quickly threw him to lie across Aramis and Porthos, and shuffled in front of them. The boy gave a whimper and three riders closed in. The leader gave the glaring Athos a sneer and cocked his pistol. 

"I should have checked," he said. 

"That would have been wise," Athos said flatly. He aimed the pistol at Athos' head, and there was a booming shot. Athos closed his eyes. 

Treville spotted them first, fifteen of them riding down the road from Rouen. It looked like his men would have vengeance after all. He drew his rapier with a ring and yelled out the charge. The battle passed in a blur, and the next thing Treville knew, Cornet was yanking him off a man and pointing to three escaping riders. 

"Follow them!" Treville boomed, "They may lead us to them!" They hadn't lost a man, and the entire troop of Musketeers followed them in a great wave. They came to a field to find the riders in front of a small group. They were all kneeling on the ground, two kneeling behind and crouching over a still figure in their laps, and the fourth curled protectively around all three of them, a snarl on his face. A mop of wild brown hair identified the group's ferocious protector. Treville cocked his pistol, aimed, and dispatched the lead rider. Shots from Cornet and Henri felled the other two. Treville flew off his steed and raced towards the small huddle. Athos was staring blankly at the bodies of the bandits and Treville winced internally. He saw that Athos had bandages around his chest, Aramis one around his head, Porthos had bandages around his ribs, arm, and leg, and d'Artagnan was covered with small cuts and even some burns. Good Lord. All of the men were pale, the Inseparables were blue, and they were all shivering hard. "Cornet, blankets and water now! Have the men ready to ride, we need to get them back to Paris!" he commanded. Rouen was farther than Paris and near the mountain trails, if they rode hard they could reach Paris by dawn the next morning. He finally kneeled in front of Athos and looked into the man's eyes. 

"Captain?" he rasped.

"Aye, are you hurt?" he asked.

"The boy is, how bad I don't know. I-I am fine, P-Porthos has hurt his ribs, arm, and le-leg, and Aramis h-has a g-graze to the h-head," Athos shivered.

"H-he was s-shot in the c-chest C-Cap'n," Aramis slurred, and Treville wondered if the man would faint. The Captain fixed a sheepish Athos with a glare, and Cornet came thundering up with blankets.

"We ride for Paris, can you handle it?" Treville asked. All four nodded slowly, and Treville accepted blankets from a worried Cornet.  Without a word, d'Artagnan was wrapped in the wool blanket and lifted onto his horse. Treville saw that Henri had a death grip on Aramis, who was obviously fainting and freezing. Cornet was the only one big enough to take the weight of Porthos, so the large Musketeer was situated in front of the Captain, a grimace of pain on his face. Athos sat stoically in front of Jacques, who was checking the bandages around his chest. Oh yes, he and the Cardinal would be having words. It was a harrowing ride back to Paris, the only things Treville could really remember was talking to d'Artagnan about everything and nothing, and having a death grip on his lover so that he would go careening off the horse. When they finally arrived at the garrison at dawn, it took Cornet whacking him upside the head to get him to release d'Artagnan. He immediately rode for the Palais de Cardinal, not wanting to get in the way of the physician. He barged into Richelieu's office and slammed both hands down on his desk. The Cardinal looked exhausted, and only looked up at him for his outburst. "You knew, you knew that the damn Spanish would be after that missive! What the hell was in that thing?!" he demanded, "What did I just put four good men in the infirmary for?!" 

"That missive contained evidence of significant breaches in our treaty with Spain," Richelieu said bluntly, "Forgive me if I thought it worth the risk."

"No wonder they were so desperate for it. How in heaven's name did it end up in Rouen?" Treville breathed. 

"The agent I had employed was found out, but was smart enough to send the missive to his sister in Rouen before the Spanish captured him," Richelieu sighed. 

"No more, no more of these secrets! They aren't your people wounded Richelieu!" Treville yelled, and with that he walked away. 

When Athos woke again, he was warm for the first time in days. He sighed and burrowed further under the covers, silently thanking Aramis for not kicking away the covers. Wait, Aramis...he shot up and was instantly held down by numerous hands and soft voices. "Be still Athos," the captain commanded, and what Treville commanded, Athos obeyed. The darkness once again seized him. 

Porthos' ribs were on fire! He thrashed, desperate to get away from the flames, but hands held him down. Something horrid was forced past his lips and down his throat, and darkness descended once more. 

Athos groaned and wiped at gritty eyes. They felt heavy, and he was oh so tired. His tongue was heavy and his fingers were stiff. How long had he been asleep? He forced his eyes to open and found a disheveled Captain sleeping in a chair. His hair was mussed, and his beard hadn't been shaved in days. He was under a mound of blankets so high that he could barely see over them. He wiggled a little and discovered that the Captain must have seen fit to swaddle him. His fingers and toes were wrapped in what was probably bandages, and his ribs were also wrapped with something. There was a slight pain in his chest, and his limbs all felt heavy. The covers were tucked under his chin, but by great effort he was able to do so. On his left was Porthos, his arm above the covers and wrapped tightly, and Athos saw that his left leg was propped on some pillows at the end of the bed. d'Artagnan had his head on his chest and a bandaged hand laying on the other side of Porthos, a sweet smile on his lips. A warmth shifted a little on his right, and Athos slowly turned his head. Aramis burrowed a little further into his shoulder and wrapped his arms around him with a sigh. His head was wrapped up in thick bandages, so much so that his brow and ears were completely invisible, his hair flattened by the white cloth. He smacked his lips and gave a sleepy sigh that sounded a little like "Athos". Athos was parched, and he strained towards the pitcher on the stand next to the bed. His chest pulled with the effort, and he gave a pained grunt. Aramis' eyes instantly flickered open, and he gave Athos a glare and poured a glass. He was propped up on pillows and helped to drink while Aramis smiled at him. 

"How long?" he rasped. 

"You're the last at nearly three weeks," Aramis sighed. 

"Three weeks?" he croaked. 

"Oh yes, Porthos isn't getting out of this bed for another month, neither are you, and the boy and I are up next week," Aramis sighed. 

"How?" Athos asked. 

"Well, as I understand it, once the cold was taken care of, the wound started to bleed again and got infected rather fast. The bullet was lodged against a rib, and about an inch from your heart. You're lucky you're here, darling," Aramis sighed. A quick kiss on the lips was given to Aramis as Athos smiled. 

"And yet here I am," he whispered. 

"And yet here you are, thank God for that," Aramis sighed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you for the support, the reception this little one-shot has received has absolutely floored me! Thank you, thank you, thank you to all of you who subscribed, commented, and left kudos!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I would love to hear thoughts!


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